After the Fall
by Girl.Interpreted
Summary: Post-anime with a crunchy manga topping... Oh Vash, you didn't really think it was going to be easy, did you? What exactly are you planning to do about Knives? How about Meryl? Not much of a plan, huh? Well, this should be interesting.
1. Terribly Beautiful

**Title:** _After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know  
**Genre:** Drama/Sci-Fi/Romance/Action/Adventure/Perhaps mildly Hentai in later chapters  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content (starting mild- I'll warn you if it starts to get spicy)  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** It's becoming apparent that Vash didn't have much of a plan as to how he was going to save Knives, apart from kicking his ass and lugging him back to the insurance girls. Hmm... maybe he should have kept that gun. Speaking of insurance girls, he didn't really have a plan for what he was going to do about Meryl, either. Oh, I'm sure it will all work out. I mean, all he has to do is reform his genocidal sociopathic twin, sort out his feelings for Meryl, save humanity, save the plants, and live happily ever after by the credo of Love and Peace... yeah, right.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Terribly Beautiful**

* * *

"Gentlemen," Meryl Stryfe began her practiced speech as she cleared the empty glasses, "we're closing up now, so you know the old saying: You don't have to go home, but..." 

Two men sat at the small table, one small-framed and blond, the other large and dark. The little guy didn't seem too out of it, but the big one? Woo, was he ever plastered. "Hey, honey," he slurred, blinking dazedly beneath his sweaty brow, "you're pretty."

"Well, that makes one of us," Meryl dead-panned.

The big guy started guffawing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. He drew back his hand, and Meryl braced herself for the slap on the ass that would necessitate the introduction of her tray with the top of his head. Before his thick, clammy palm could find it's target though, the man's companion slapped him across the back of his head.

"Idiot!" the little man seethed before turning his nervous expression towards Meryl. "Miss Stryfe, please forgive Ivan. He's just had a few too many and he doesn't know what he's doing." The flustered bar patron then rose from his seat and grabbed Ivan's arm, jerking him away from the table. "We'll be going now, and thank you for patience and hospitality," he continued, while shoving twenty double-dollars in the tip-cup on her tray. "Please have a lovely evening, and I do hope you won't hold this little incident against us."

Meryl watched, dumbfounded, as a grumbling Ivan was dragged toward the door. His friend pulled him closer and whispered something. Ivan turned his gaze back to where Meryl stood, his eyes widening into something approximating fright. "Sorry! Sorry miss!" he shouted, just as they disappeared though the door.

Meryl stood and blinked. _What the...?_

"I can tell from your expression that you must not have heard about what happened last night," a pretty woman in her forties stopped wiping the bar and grinned conspiratorially at Meryl.

"Rosana." Sam McLeod drew his wife's name out into a warning.

The McLeods had been running this bar together for over a decade. Meryl had been working for the couple for a few months now, ever since she and Millie had brought Vash back from LR Town. In that time, Meryl had become quite fond of them and the kind, parental way in which they treated her. Sam (known as Mac) was a reserved and proud man. Rosana was caring, doting, and the biggest gossip Meryl had ever met.

"What happened last night? What was that all about?" Meryl set her tray on the bar.

"Well, I guess Ivan hasn't heard that you're the Stampede's woman," Rosana laughed.

"I'm what?!" Meryl practically screamed in the woman's face. A litany of further questions frothed at her tongue, but it seemed she was too shocked to form words. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. When her eyes reopened they flashed an angry glare at the bar's proprietor. "Mac, what do you know about this?"

"Hold on now, Meryl." The man waved his hands placatingly between them. "It's nothing to get excited about. Vash was in here last night, and he simply suggested that the fellas...aah...be careful regarding their behaviour...towards you."

"Oh now, Mac, you're not doing the story justice," Rosana brought Meryl's attention back around before she could demand further details. "Oh Meryl, it was so romantic."

"Romantic?" Meryl gulped.

"Gosh darn it, Rosana! You're embarrassing the girl."

"You hush, Mac. I'm doing no such thing. Nothing to be embarrassed about, being in love. Why I remember when you were that fiery concerning me. Slugged Timmy Baron in the jaw for asking me to dance..."

"Tim Baron was an arrogant coward who didn't deserve to tread the same ground as you, let alone...!"

"Please," Meryl raised a hand to cut off Mac's indignant tirade. "Last night. Spill."

"Well," Rosana began, leaning forward on the bar, "Mr. Vash came in last night around eight or nine o'clock... Was it eight or nine, Mac?"

"Nine," he sighed impatiently.

"Okay, right. So he came in and sat at the bar, pleasant as ever. Just chattin' away with all the diggers from the well. And Anthony Trivolli... you know him, Meryl."

"Um..." Meryl began uncertainly.

"The creep who you bent a tray over last Thursday," Mac supplied.

"Oh," Meryl nodded in recognition, remembering the smarmy bastard who acted like he was the only game in town.

"That Anthony," Rosana shook her head, "I thank God his poor mother isn't alive to see the way he carries on. Some men think a good-looking face gives them free license to act however they please. Anyway, dear, I'm sorry to say he said some things he shouldn't have."

Meryl's eyes narrowed, "What things?"

Rosana hesitated and her husband came to her rescue, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Things that are not meant for the tender ears of young ladies."

"Please, Mac!" Meryl fumed. "I may be young, but I'm certainly not tender. What did he say?"

"It doesn't bear repeating, dear," Rosana stated firmly. "Suffice to say that it involved you, and it was talk you wouldn't hear in polite conversation."

Meryl felt her hands fist at her sides. "That lecherous, gross..."

"Well, that's not the point," Rosana interrupted the furious woman's invective. "The point is that Mr. Vash heard all this going on and he stands up from the bar and walks right over to Anthony and tells him- all nice and calm and pleasant, mind you- that he should think about what he's going to say before he says it and maybe he wants to take back the things he said regarding you."

"What happened then?" Meryl asked, somewhat breathlessly.

Mac snorted a mirthless laugh. "Anthony told Vash to go fuck himself."

"He did not!" Meryl gasped.

"He did!" Rosana vigorously nodded her head. "And before I could even get my wits about me, Mr. Vash hit Anthony right in the face, and before Anthony could even fall down, Mr. Vash caught him by the collar with the same hand and pulled him back up!"

"It was so fast," Mac added. "He moved so fast I could hardly follow him."

"So Mr. Vash- oh, and this is the best part, Meryl- he says, loud enough for everybody to hear... oh, and I want to say it exactly how he did- he says, 'Meryl Stryfe is my girl. You touch her, or upset her, even _think _poorly of her- you _will_ answer to me.'" Rosana finished her story with a dreamy smile, as her husband stood behind her merely shaking his head.

"He...he.." Meryl sputtered, "He. Did. **What**!?" She turned her gaze from Rosana's contented face to Mac, who only offered her a shrug. Meryl groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Oh Mac! I'm so sorry he caused trouble for you!"

Mac laughed and slapped her on the back. "What are you sorry about? Do you know how much money I'm gonna save if you're not bending a tray over some knucklehead's skull every shift? Besides, it's about time someone forced those children to behave. No, I don't mind at all, Meryl."

"But what was he thinking!?" Meryl ran her hands through her hair and fisted it at the roots. "Of all the stupid, pea-brained, half-hatched..."

Mac chuckled good-naturedly. "Don't be too hard on the boy, Meryl. I remember being young and in love, and well... sometimes a man acts before thinking things through. There's no harm done, and I'm sure he's just looking out for you."

"You don't understand," Meryl responded. "He's not in love! I'm not with him! I'm sure he just said that so the guys won't bother me, but I can take care of myself! Damn it! Why is he such a pain in the ass?"

"Oh," Rosana answered with surprise. "Still, he must care for you a great deal."

"Vash cares a great deal for everyone." Meryl laid her head despondently on the bar. "I mean, how could he be in love with me? He's in love with the whole world and everyone in it."

Rosana's brow creased in gentle question. "I don't think I follow, dear."

Meryl sighed. "I mean, that I'm really not anything special. We're just friends is all. Vash is the kind of man who would do anything to protect anyone. If it had been Millie that Anthony was talking about, or any other woman for that matter, he would have done the same thing. It's just how he is."

Mac shared a skeptical look with his wife before addressing Meryl, "You know, it's late. You should get home, Meryl."

The young woman rose tiredly from her seat at the bar. "Yeah, thanks for letting me know what's up, you guys. I'll see you tomorrow." She gathered her cloak from a hook by the door on her way out.

"Night, Meryl! Get home safe!" Rosana called as the girl disappeared through the doorframe. After a beat, when she was sure that Meryl was out of earshot, she turned to her husband and asked, "You buy that for a second?"

Mac laughed, drawing his wife into his arms. "I think she does."

"Oh, but how can she be so dense? That man is obviously in love with her."

"I should be asking you that question. You didn't believe that I was in love with you for a long time." Mac quirked an eyebrow at her. "Remember?"

Rosana pouted teasingly. "You weren't nearly that obvious, dear."

* * *

By the time she neared the house she shared with Millie, Vash, and now, Knives, Meryl had a really good rage working. So what if Vash was trying to protect her? So what if the thought of him standing up to that jerk gave her a funny (though not unpleasant) feeling in her stomach? This was irrelevant, and weak, and... and... how dare he!? She didn't need him making a scene at her place of work! Scaring the clientèle, and... and.. lying! 

Meryl allowed herself to be furious. It was the only way she was going to be able to face him and not embarrass herself. _Stupid! Don't be stupid, Meryl!_

The moons were new, and in the blackness they cast, she nearly stumbled over Millie. "Sempai! Careful!" Millie caught her with one long arm. She took her friend's hand and walked her onto their porch, lighting a lantern that sat on the railing. "Meryl why are you so upset?"

The junior agent wiped the tears from Meryl's cheeks; she hadn't realized she was crying. "Oh Millie, I," Meryl laughed in spite of herself, "I don't even know. It's silly, really. Vash..."

Millie's brow knotted in annoyance. "What did he do? Did he make you cry again, Meryl?"

"Oh, nothing like that, Millie. He just threatened some guys at the bar..."

"Oh that."

"What do you mean, 'oh that'? You knew about this?" Meryl's voice rose a notch in anger.

"Of course, silly." The big smile returned to Millie's face. "I work at the well remember?"

"Oh yeah."

"But why would you be crying about that, Sempai?"

Meryl hesitated before answering. Why did it bother her so much? A large part of her wanted to lie, or at least ignore the truth. She was tough. She was nobody's toy, nobody's fool. That was it. Looking into the open, honest face of her best friend, she felt her insides soften and fall.

"He told everyone that I was _his_, Millie. And for a second, when I heard about what he said, I believed it, wanted to believe it... I just feel so stupid!" She kicked herself as she collapsed in sobs, hating that she was so fragile.

"Oh but, Meryl," Millie started, her face etched with tenderness, "you are."

"'Are' what?"

"His." The crying woman stilled, and looked up at Millie with shivering eyes. "Well, aren't you, Meryl? He's certainly yours."

"Millie, what are you saying?"

"Jeez, Sempai," Millie rolled her eyes, "are you really that dense? Mr. Vash loves you."

Meryl crossed her arms and looked away. "Don't be stupid, Millie."

"No, Meryl! You're being stupid!" The anger in her friend's voice surprised Meryl. The mask of unshakable optimistic cheer fell away from Millie's face, replaced by something harder and wiser. She could only look back at the woman in dumb shock. "There is a man inside keeping watch over his unconscious brother, who- I'll remind you- the last time we checked, was dead set on the extermination of the human race. Vash is the only thing that stands between us and Knives. He's going to save him. I'm certain of it. I wouldn't have agreed to have Knives here otherwise. But Vash has a long road ahead of him. He's scared and he's lonely and he needs you! I don't know what you're so frightened of, and I sure hope you'll talk to me about it, but right now you need to put that aside." Millie's face softened as her eye-eating smile overtook her features. "My big big sister always says that you shouldn't hold back on matters of the heart. So, get your cute butt in there and talk to him. Okay?"

Meryl found herself nodding as she stood, making her way into the house. As if on autopilot she prepared a plate of food in the kitchen. Ever since Wolfwood's death something about Millie was changing. It was as if more and more of her true self was being revealed to Meryl, and she was discovering just how uncannily perceptive and wise her junior partner could be. Meryl trusted her, and wanted to believe her. She picked up the reheated plate of pasta and started up the stairs, her courage growing with each step.

* * *

Vash the Stampede sat in a hard-backed chair, leaning over his brother's bed. He tried to force his awareness outward, to seek his brother's consciousness within the folds of the sleeping form's mind. No good. He just didn't have enough practice at this. Maybe he should take some of the three hours of physical conditioning he did each morning, and contribute a little more to the three seconds dedicated to meditation. Either Knives was blocking him, or he was so deep in healing sleep that he couldn't be reached. 

Vash smiled. Knives looked- dare he say it- peaceful. With his features relaxed in sleep, he was soft, gentle. Like the kind brother he remembered. The one who loved people so much he couldn't wait for them to wake up. To find out what they were like. To be friends. Vash took his brother's hand and whispered, "I missed you, jerkface."

A shy knock brought his attention to the door. "Come in."

"Hey." Meryl took a step into the room. In one hand she held a plate of food, but the other hand remained on the doorknob, as if she wasn't sure she was staying.

"What's for dinner?" He turned in his chair so that he could face her. Releasing the doorknob, she crossed the space between them and set the plate down on the small table beside him. He leaned over to take a deep whiff of the spaghetti and sauce. "Mmm. Smells good, short girl... ow! Hey! What was that for?"

Meryl glared at the outlaw who was holding the spot on the back of his head where her fist had most recently made contact. "Do you really have to ask?"

Vash brought his hand further down, to the back of his neck, and rubbed in that nervous gesture of his. "Oh... heard about that did you?"

"What were you thinking Vash?"

"Can't have your good name sullied. I mean, nobody talks badly about my insurance girls, right?" Vash gave her his best smile. The foolproof grin that had never failed to keep him out of trouble: Goofy. Sheepish. Adorable. Irresistable.

"Don't do that." The look she gave him then knocked the air from his lungs. Tearful. Honest. Adorable. Irresistable. "Don't give me that empty smile, Vash. I can't stand to look at it."

She stood there, in that ridiculous bar uniform, daring him to shut her out. Just try it. Her arms were crossed, not like she was angry, but like she was holding onto herself. And her eyes. Wet, but not crying. No, Meryl wouldn't let herself cry as long as she could help it. Those shimmering eyes- gray, no, lavender- locked on his face, trembling but not breaking away. He'd never seen anything so strong, so _vulnerable_. And before he knew what was happening he felt his features slip into something real. A soft smile fell easily into place.

"Hey, Vash."

"Hey, Meryl."

Meryl let her arms fall to her sides and offered the gunman an expression that was somewhere between a smile and a smirk. Noticing that she was looking for a place to sit, Vash moved to an unoccupied corner of his brother's bed and offered her the chair. Meryl settled herself, thankful that the chair was still warm from where he was sitting. The skirt on her uniform from the bar was really too short, and the backs of her bare legs touched the wood as she sat. "So what's with the stunt you pulled last night, Vash? I mean, I've never seen you resort to violence unless there wasn't another option. Just seems out of character."

Vash sighed, deep and frustrated. He ran his prosthetic fingers through his unkempt hair. "I keep wondering about that myself. I was just so- I don't know- angry. I didn't even feel like myself. I broke the guy's nose."

The hand Meryl brought to her mouth couldn't stifle her laugh. "You broke his nose?"

"It's not funny Meryl!" Vash protested, though he was laughing as well.

"Course not. Though you may have done him a favor. If you hadn't broken his nose, I would have broken his skull." She paused, noticing his smile was a little sad. "So, what though? You decided to tell the whole town we're shacking-up?"

"You know, technically we are shacking-up: You live here, I live here..."

She crossed her arms. "Don't get cute."

"Get cute? I thought I already was." Her hand curled into a fist and Vash quickly raised his hands in a cease-fire. "Fine, fine. The men in this town tolerate me. Some may even like me. But they're afraid of me, just the same. They won't dare touch what they perceive to be mine."

Meryl could feel the angry little muscles in her jaw popping. "I'm not chattel, Vash."

"I know that. I'm sorry. It just..." He took a deep breath and fixed her with an imploring gaze. Though she was angry, Meryl couldn't help but wonder how a pair of eyes could be such equal parts of blue and green. "It just came out."

"Okay." Meryl broke eye contact and brushed imaginary lint from her skirt. Eager for a subject change, she asked, "How's Knives?"

"Still completely out of it. he won't be awake for a long time, and I don't even know how long it'll be before I can contact him mentally."

Vash had explained the mental connection he shared with his brother, and also Knives' abilities with telepathy and mind-control to the girls. He seemed to think that having a period of time, where he could speak with Knives mind-to-mind before he was physically conscious, was the key to reforming him. When Meryl asked how long he thought this window of opportunity would last, Vash got vague and Meryl got apprehensive. Now, she felt a little guilty, but she was relieved that Knives was so out of it. Having a powerful, ill-intentioned telepath in the house, mobile or not, made her less than comfortable. _Don't freak out. Don't get mad. You're here for Vash, remember? He's lonely and scared and whatever else Millie said, and you trust him, and everything is going to be fine. _Still, she had to ask, "How can you be sure he's not going to wake up soon?"

"When we get hurt badly we have to sleep it off. It's like our bodies require all available energy to fix the damage. You remember I was out for ten days that time?" Meryl nodded her head as Vash absentmindedly adjusted the blanket covering his twin. "Well, Knives is hurt worse. I shattered both his femurs where the bullets hit, and sent a bullet through each scapula. Bone takes awhile and a lot of energy to heal. Plus... I'm sure the whole thing..." Vash hesitated, studying his brother's face. "The look on his face before he passed out... I'm sure the fight and its outcome were emotionally traumatic."

"Oh." Meryl had never had a conversation with Vash that was as honest as this one. She supposed she should be glad that he wasn't being coy, or hiding behind feigned ignorance. Afterall, hadn't she practically demanded his sincerity? Even so, his sincerity made him seem vulnerable, and seeing him vulnerable made her feel vulnerable, and feeling vulnerable made her feel defensive... She kept thinking about what Millie had told her on the porch: _"He's certainly yours... He needs you."_

Oh, she wished she could be angry about something again. Or, if there was something she could do, a situation she could control and handle and fix. As it was, with him sitting across from her, looking at her with concern (and, huh, his eyes are just a little bit more blue than they are green), with his hair soft and falling across his forehead, and his shoulder bleeding through his t-shirt, Meryl was certain she was about to have a full blown panic attack. _Wait a minute. Shoulder bleeding through...? _

"Vash, you're bleeding." She pointed.

"Huh? Oh damn." Vash grabbed the shirt at the collar and pulled it over his head, turning his neck to inspect the wound. "This one's in a weird spot. It keeps opening back up."

"Here, let me." Meryl rose and collected some of the supplies Vash kept in the room for changing Knives' bandages. Sitting back down, she pulled her chair closer to Vash and began unwrapping the old gauze. "This is the ugliest bandaging job I've ever seen," she scolded.

Vash nervously scratched the back of his neck with his free arm. "You'd think I would've gotten good at it after all these years of getting shot up, huh?"

Meryl paused in her work long enough to glance up at him. "Bullshit, Vash. Knives' bandages are perfect. Better than I could do. You just don't extend the same care to yourself."

Oops, she had him. It seemed like it was getting harder and harder to slip things past her. She was just so damned perceptive when she let herself be. And Millie? Forget it. She could pin him with a look, just a look, and he was suddenly very aware of two facts: One, Millie was just as good at feigning ignorance as he was, if not better, and she'd been doing it all along. Two, he wasn't fooling her, not one little bit, and she was just about done indulging him.

Now that he thought about it, this situation, this closeness to the insurance girls (especially one in particular's immeadiate physical closeness), was getting s-c-a-r-y.

He watched Meryl as she finished bandaging his shoulder. She was leaning close so that she could reach him. One of his knees was situated just between hers. _Gah, stupid short skirt._ He could smell her hair- bar smoke, her shampoo, her sweat. It was incredibly and inexplicably appealing.

"There." Meryl applied a small square of tape to hold the gauze and wrapping in place. Her fingers stayed frozen for a moment, and then her brow creased as if she was thinking about something serious. Vash was about to ask her what was wrong, when her fingers began moving. She touched a spot on his chest where two planes of skin met in a raised ridge of scar tissue. He shivered and forced himself not to pull away as she traced the fissure with light fingers, down his abdomen and back up until her palm rested over his heart.

Vash watched her brows knot together in a way that seemed almost painful. Her mouth set in a line, he could see her jaw clench and unclench. Her eyes were shining, surface tension and resolve just barely keeping her tears in place. She blinked once and they made their silent descent down her cheeks. "Meryl?"

"Terrible." She barely breathed the word, not moving her eyes from where they were fixed. She was staring at his chest, his body, his scars. Suddenly, he'd never felt so naked. Nevermind that all he'd taken off was his shirt. He thought about the time he'd stripped down and barked like a dog to protect Lina. Nope. He defenitely felt a lot more exposed right now. He nervously gripped her hand, meaning to remove it from his chest, but she spoke again. "Beautiful."

He froze. Meryl looked up at him. Her heather eyes blinked out a steady line of tears beneath her dark lashes. She sniffled a little and smiled. So sweet and sad. "You're so very beautiful, Vash." He stopped breathing. He was vaguely aware that he was still holding her hand against his chest, as her other hand reached out and curled gently behind his neck. He could feel her tears on his cheek as she kissed him. Not on the mouth. Not on the cheek. Her lips met his face in that place just next to the corner of his mouth. They lingered there for a moment, and he was very aware that if he just turned his head a little...

But he stayed stock-still. His eyes squeezed shut and he felt his own tears falling. Meryl pulled back and he started breathing again in a shaky sob. Before he could speak she was up and half-way to the door. "You should eat your food before it gets any colder," she noted, her back facing him.

"Wait!" He found his voice and cleared his throat as she turned to face him. "You, um, working tomorrow night?"

There was going to be a town-wide festival the next night, to celebrate the water that had been tapped at the well. There was going to be drinking and games and music. Meryl had requested not to work at Millie's insistence. The big girl had worked hard at coaxing that water from the earth, and she wanted to celebrate with her best friend and partner. "I'm working the lunch shift, but I'll be done by five. Why?"

"Well, I," Vash hesitated, scratching the back of his neck nervously once again. He looked at the floor as he spoke, "I, um, thought that you might like to go into town with, uh, me? You know, lemme buy you a drink or something?"

_I know that Vash the Stampede is not asking me on a date. That would be perfectly insane._ "Well, I was planning on going in with Mille. I figured you'd come."

"Of course!" Vash laughed nervously. "Big girl put her blood, sweat, and tears into that well, afterall. I'm sure it's gonna be a lot of fun."

"Yeah." Meryl paused uncertainly. "Well, goodnight then, Vash."

Meryl noted with displeasure that his normal, idiotic grin was back on his face, erasing anything genuine. She'd lost him. _You're such a coward, Meryl._ "Night, short girl! And thanks for the grub and the bandage!"

Vash stared at the door for a long moment after Meryl had closed it. His heart was thumping loudly in his ears. He turned to watch his brother sleep and breathed out hard, as if trying to force the anxiety from his body. He could still feel the ghost of Meryl's lips on his face. He experimentally ran his tongue over the spot, and came back with the taste of her lip gloss.

"Oh, man." He shook his head and asked, "What the hell am I doing?"


	2. Hanabi

**Title:** _After the Fall_

**Author:** Girl.Interpreted

**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping

**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know

**Genre:** Drama/Sci-Fi/Romance/Action/Adventure/Perhaps mildly Hentai in later chapters

**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content: you know, the fun stuff

**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.

**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary: **It's becoming apparent that Vash didn't have much of a plan as to how he was going to save Knives, apart from kicking his ass and lugging him back to the insurance girls. Hmm... maybe he should have kept that gun. Speaking of insurance girls, he didn't really have a plan for what he was going to do about Meryl, either. Oh, I'm sure it will all work out. I mean, all he has to do is reform his genocidal sociopathic twin, sort out his feelings for Meryl, save humanity, save the plants, and live happily ever after by the credo of Love and Peace... yeah, right.

**A/N:** Extreme gratitude to my beta, Alaena Night, who besides being a marvelous author, is a superb editor. Among her many talents, she is a human dictionary. Bet you wish you had one of those, huh? She keeps up with my break-neck writing pace, and answers delerious emails at two o'dark in the morning. And I've only known her for about five days. Imagine how deep my devotion will run by the end of the week.

* * *

**Chapter 2: Hanabi**

* * *

"...bleeding."

"...'s in a weird spot..."

"...let me."

A conversation in bits and pieces. A familiar masculine voice. A woman. Who? The rustling of fabric. Small feet padding across the floor. The smell of antiseptic. Impressions of feelings, emotions. His? No. Vash. And... someone.

Millions Knives was waking up.

He became aware of his growing consciousness just in time to hide the fact from Vash. _ Idiot._ He should have been aware of the change in Knives as soon as he began to come to. Apparently, his brother was... distracted.

Knives was weak, and his body remained sleeping though his mind reached tentatively outward. He gently sifted through his brother's memories, careful to mask his presence, filling himself in on what had occurred since that bastard shot him down.

So, Vash had sought the assistance of his human companions. The girls Legato had informed him of. They knew what he was, what Vash was, and yet they agreed to help. The stupidity and self-destructive tendencies of the breed never failed to amaze him. _Oh, Vash. You really are so naïve. What did you think bringing me here would accomplish?_

Knives was slightly startled as his twin's heart rate suddenly increased. The girl had her hand on Vash's body. He could feel the thing's fingers, like the legs of a centipede, as if they were crawling along his own flesh. Vash liked the feel of the girl's hand. _Fucking heathen. _He shifted his concentration, listening in on the girl's thoughts.

_Impossible. Impossible to bond flesh and metal and not scream in pain with each breath. How could anyone do this to someone? Let alone someone like Vash?... and still, he looks at humanity with the desire to protect them. How did he endure it? Why did he forgive?... Every member of the human race as his kin. Terrible, when we've no right to expect it, let alone accept it._

"Terrible." The girl spoke out loud, and his idiot brother flinched, ashamed. He thought the girl was disgusted by his form. Oh, but she wasn't disgusted. She was furious. When she looked at Vash's scars, a flash of hatred boiled in her veins for the Gung-ho Guns, Legato, and of course, Knives himself. _Presumptuous, bitch. You don't know anything about me. _But bulk of her malice was directed at her own kind. At each hand and weapon, unseen and unknown to her, that ever rose against him. She felt an impotent rage against a time before she'd even been born, when a young and frightened world had carved proof of its most wicked imperfections on the living body of... _It's so stupid to wish I had known you then, _thought the girl, _as if I would have been able to protect you somehow? _Worse, her rage dissolved into sadness and she dared to pity Vash, and for some reason, this made Knives angrier than he could fathom. Her very being screamed out to his brother with sickening, sentimental affection. Her tenderness made Knives want to scream at her for touching Vash. He'd throw her across the room if he had the strength. _Your race is not our kin!_ She had one thing right though: Her pathetic race was woefully unworthy of his twin's protection and mercy.

"You're so very beautiful, Vash." She said it, feeling that his scars were a badge of courage and kindness, as opposed to what they really were: a lesson. A lesson Vash refused to learn. Homo sapien was methodically cruel. If Vash didn't stop them, they would carve away at his flesh until there was nothing left. _Didn't Tessla teach you that? Didn't I?_

The girl kissed him, and Knives felt his brother's grateful sob. Something tight and hurtful inside his twin uncoiled at the girl's touch, and Knives felt it. _Love_. He didn't know exactly who this creature was, but he knew _what_ she was: Rem all over again. Maybe worse this time.

Knives had expected Vash to show up to their final duel hopeless and despondent. Broken from having killed, he'd be easy enough to convince. _I was supposed to get my brother back! I was supposed to finally save him!_ But Vash had arrived vigorous with hope, as convinced as ever that the human race was worth sacrificing his own life. Worse yet, he thought to save Knives! As if either of them would be safe while a single human still lived.

He'd been so close to winning Vash over, but he'd failed his brother again. This girl was the reason why.

When she rose to leave, Knives could feel Vash's desperation. He wanted her to stay. He wanted to be close to her. His sentimental excuse for a sibling fumbled over his words, and made a general ass of himself trying to endear himself to the creature. _Why, Vash!?_

When the woman was gone, Knives felt his brother's attention turn to him. He pulled back, more careful to prevent Vash noticing he was awake. He was thinking about the woman, what her mouth felt like on his skin. "Oh man," Vash sighed. "What the hell am I doing?"

Knives' body remained motionless, his face soft and complacent, but in his mind he was biting his metaphysical tongue. _You're asking me, you fucking adolescent!?_

Knives was livid, but he was also feeling something else. Something he hadn't felt in so long. He was afraid. For the first time ever, he doubted his ability to eventually reach Vash. _What if I can't save him? _

Knives banished the chilly, crawling feeling that accompanied the terrifying thought. There was no way he'd lose him. The life of a human was like a gust of air: sharp and cold and gone in a heartbeat. They, on the other hand, were eternal. Why couldn't Vash see that they were each all the other had? Standing outside of Time, he shared a place with Vash where no mortal could follow. Only, Vash kept dragging Rem's memory along; her foolish ideals plagued his brother still.

Vash's promise to Rem hung in the air, suffocating the space that should have been reserved for only two. It was at times like this he was sorry that Rem was dead. He wished he could tell the bitch she wasn't welcome. _You are not my mother. Leave my brother alone._ But, this latest woman to enter Vash's heart was very much alive. Knives would make certain she understood she was trespassing.

Knives couldn't lose him, because he'd never give up. No matter what it took, or what he had to do, he'd never give up on Vash. As long as he still had breath, he'd work to save him. He'd find the strength to go another round.

* * *

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Vash." Millie grinned broadly as she accepted the section of pastry.

"Of course! Hey Meryl, you sure you don't want some?"

"No, thanks."

"Come on." He tore off another piece and waved it under her nose, while taking a bite of what remained in his other hand. "It's, like, the best thing I've ever had in my mouth."

"Uh huh." Meryl watched the aforementioned, stupidly smiling mouth, and hoped there wasn't enough light in the street for anyone to see her blush. "I've had funnel cake before."

"Yeah, so have I." He pouted. "But you can only get it on special occasions. It's better than donuts."

"Fine. Gimme." She reached for the piece he'd offered her earlier, only to have it held above her grasp.

"Shocking manners, Miss Stryfe," he said in mock appall. "Say, 'pleeeease'."

"Careful, broomhead," she warned, and he relented. "Thanks. This is really good." Meryl chewed her second bite thoughtfully and looked around the fair. "So, what are we doing now?"

Meryl noted both of her companions were trying not to laugh. At her. "What? What's so funny?"

"Nothing, Sempai," Millie answered with overly sweetened innocence. Vash just laughed outright.

Meryl's fists found their way to her hips. "Seriously, what?"

Vash took a step towards her and lifted his hand, "Don't smack me."

She shied away as he reached for her face. "Don't give me a reason to smack you. What are you...?"

He touched her cheek and ran his thumb down the tip of her nose. Drawing back, he absently sucked the digit into his mouth. "Powdered sugar."

"Excuse me?"

"Powdered sugar," he explained again. "You had it on your nose. It looked silly."

"Sorry, Sempai," Millie apologized, "it was just really cute. We didn't mean to embarrass... Hey! Look at that!"

Meryl and Vash followed Millie's emphatic gesturing to a game booth. She was pointing at a stuffed animal that was nearly the size of her. Well, not quite that big, but it was approaching Meryl's proportions.

"It's a puppy!" Millie chirped.

"It's a St. Bernard!" Meryl exclaimed, awestruck by the toy's epic size.

"You want it, big girl? Consider it yours." Vash sauntered heroically toward the booth, slapping a five double-dollar bill on the counter.

"YAY!" Millie cheered. Meryl rolled her eyes.

The operator of the booth appraised his newest player skeptically. "Two double-dollars gets you one play, young man. You have to shoot _all _of the star out of the target or else it don't count. Got it?"

Vash picked up the air-rifle as if testing its weight. About five yarz in front of him hung a paper target with a large black star drawn on it. "Piece of cake!"

"Are you really gonna win it for me, Mr. Vash?" Millie asked hopefully.

"Well, of course, young lady." Vash's voice deepened as he straightened himself to his full height. He spoke into the air, to no one and everyone at the same time. "I'm Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, the most legendary of legendary gunmen, the..."

"Are you for real?" the booth operator interrupted.

"Um, yeah?" Vash offered a docile smile.

The operator looked around for confirmation, and Meryl nodded 'yes', her fingers massaging her temples. "Well, uh," the operator lifted an eyebrow in the gunman's direction, "aren't festival games a little beneath you?"

"Um, no?"

The operator looked back up, and Meryl shook her head 'no', fingertips still massaging. "Okay then. You got fifteen rounds. Good luck."

Fifteen rounds. Fifteen BB shots, each point four-six centimeters in diameter. And judging by the distance to the target, the size of the star, the approximate force with which the rifle would expel each round- each shot should leave a hole the size of... oh, well that wouldn't work, but... huh. Was this even possible?

"Huh." Vash set the rifle back down for a moment and chewed his lip thoughtfully. He hadn't considered that the game might be impossible to win. _Jeez, this could get really embarrassing._

"Problems, Mr. Typhoon?" the booth operator asked as condescendingly as possible, a satisfied smirk on his lips.

"Oh, no, mister. No problems, what-so-ever." Vash looked down the sights of his 'weapon' and fired an experimental shot. It went high and to the right, hitting nothing but the back wall of the booth. Vash ignored the operator's derisive chuckle. After all, now he knew where he had to aim to shoot straight. Looking down the barrel once more, Vash squeezed the trigger, carving a circle of perfectly placed holes around the star. The star, however, remained in place.

The operator blinked a few times in surprise, but soon recovered himself when he realized that Vash had not actually won. "Well, that was a heck of a try, son. Better luck next time, just keep practicing."

Millie was working very hard at not looking disappointed. "Thanks, Mr. Vash. That was a really great try. It looks like a really hard game..."

"Millie," Vash cut her off, and lifted the rifle once more. He squeezed the trigger without looking towards his target. A single BB hit the star in the center, knocking it loose and sending it floating to the ground. He gave Millie a roguish smile and a wink. "I still had one shot."

* * *

"Show off," Meryl chided, catching the aqua eyes of the man sitting across the table from her.

The passage of twenty minutes found the insurance girls and their charge relaxing at Meryl's place of alternate employment. The bar was loud and animated. Drinks were passed around. The hum of people laughing and talking undercut the deleriously upbeat music of a live band.

Meryl tried to maintain a superior and slightly disapproving glare in Vash's direction, but it was just so difficult not to smile. Especially, with Millie so ecstatically happy over Pedro.

Pedro was, of course, an enormous stuffed puppy, who took up his own seat across from Millie, completing their four-seater table. Vash watched Meryl's junior partner warmly, blushing furiously as she recounted the tale of Pedro's emancipation to anyone who happened to walk by. Meryl didn't realize she was staring at him until he caught her, at which point she attempted (ineffectually) to school her expression to one of perfect, calm disinterest. He simply smiled at her knowingly, not saying a word.

Looking at his placid, contented face, Meryl noted that he seemed really, really happy. This, in turn, made her feel really, really happy herself, which made her smile like an idiot, which made her realize that he was watching her smile like an idiot, which made her feel like she was not only smiling like and idiot, but was, in fact, an actual idiot, _and ohmygod I'm gonna have another panic attack._

Luckily, Rosana swooped in with a tray full of salvation. "Three beers, three shots. Stay as long as you like, kids. Drinks are on the house."

"Rosana don't be silly," Meryl protested.

"Yeah, Rosie. I told Meryl I'd buy her a drink. You don't wanna make me look like a jerk, do ya?"

Rosana set a pint and a whiskey shot in front of Vash. "I'm sure you'll figure out some way to make it up to her, sweetie." She mussed his spikes of hair affectionately, which earned her a 'hey, careful!' from Vash and a giggle from Millie.

Millie raised her shot in the air, encouraging her friends to do the same. "To Love and Peace!" she proclaimed.

"To Love and Peace!" they echoed, tilting back their heads and snapping back their glasses. Vash smiled so broadly at Millie, Meryl thought his face was going to split in two.

"Hey, Miss Millie?" The three companions looked up as a young man bashfully approached their table.

"Hi, Jeremy! Mr. Vash, Sempai, this is Jeremy who works with me at the well. Jeremy, this is Mr. Vash and Sempai. Oh, and that's Pedro."

Jeremy nodded nervously in turn to each occupant of the table. "Mr. Vash."

"Hey, Jeremy! Nice to see you again!" Vash smiled brightly and Jeremy skittishly took his outstretched hand.

"Yes, sir. You too." Vash frowned at being called 'sir', but Jeremy continued to say hello to the last (non-stuffed) occupant of the table. "Miss Stryfe, right?"

"Meryl." She reached across the table and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Jeremy."

"Likewise, Miss Stryfe." Meryl noted that Jeremy glanced apprehensively at Vash as he shook her hand. Then she remembered that every man in town thought that Vash was her jealous, violent boyfriend. Apparently, Jeremy included. She shot the outlaw an acid-laced glare that she hoped promised future wrath. Vash squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, and Meryl smiled sweetly.

After the introductions, it was obvious that Jeremy didn't have eyes for anyone but Millie. He didn't even notice the nonverbal exchange between Vash and the black-haired insurance agent. "Miss Millie, I was wondering if, perhaps... that is if you'd, um... would you like to dance?"

"Oh, gee, Jeremy. Sure I would. I love to dance." Millie rose from her chair, quickly polished off her beer, and told Pedro to be good. Jeremy took her hand and started a few awkward turns around the dance floor. It wasn't long, Meryl noted with a smirk, before Millie had taken over the lead.

"Well, alright then. I give up! You win." Vash sighed theatrically, as if he were really put out.

"What are you going on about now, broomhead?" Meryl eyed him cautiously, not sure where he was going with this.

"Well, you have that look about you."

"What look?"

"The one that says you want to dance. So, I suppose, if I have to..."

"What in our history together would make you believe I have a 'look' that means I want to dance?" she protested, but Vash was already standing, and drawing her to her feet by both of her slim wrists.

She closed her fingers around his prosthetic hand, noting that the latest replacement felt pretty real, though not as warm as the hand he rested on her waist. He moved them smoothly into the thick of the other dancers, keeping perfect time with the lively music. With a little push on her waist, he spun her out, twirling her before catching her deftly against his chest once more.

"You're a pretty good dancer, insurance girl."

"Funny," she smiled, "I was thinking the same thing about you."

Of course, it really shouldn't have surprised her. She'd seen Vash fight many times, after all. And though she was usually afraid for his life or her own, she couldn't help but notice the grace with which he moved. His coordination in battle was so seamless that it appeared to require no effort. Vash was in perfect control of each and every muscle that made up his tall frame. And yet, he acted like such a bumbling klutz most of the time. She knew better though, it shouldn't have surprised her that he could dance like this.

Meryl was beautiful when she let her guard down. Maybe it was the fact that she wasn't aware of how she looked. When she wasn't being so self-conscious she glowed with a lambent energy that made his chest a little tight and his knees a little doughy. Flushed and laughing, her sweat-damp hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes shining and crinkling at the corners... mmm. He should have asked her to dance sooner. Like, years ago.

"What are you thinking about!?" she shouted over the music.

He spoke close to her ear so she could hear him, "What do you mean?"

"You've got that look about you!"

"What look?"

"The one that says you're thinking about something, but you're not going to tell me what!"

Vash grinned at her perceptiveness. "Then why bother asking?"

She answered sweetly, "Never know when you might be feeling generous."

"I was thinking..." he began, twirling her in place a few times before pulling her dizzyingly close, "that I really like dancing with you."

She looked up from his chest and laughed nervously, fiddling with a button on his shirt. "Oh."

The rythmic bellowing of a chant drew Vash's attention away from Meryl. _Were there other people in this room?_ He looked across the bar to where Millie stood, gulping beer from an enormous mug. A crowd of burly looking well-diggers surrounded her, cheering, "CHUG CHUG CHUG!"

Millie slammed the empty glass on the bar, evincing a deafening roar from the crowd. "And still champion!" Millie proclaimed, fists raised over her head in victory. "And man, is it hot!" she added, stumbling a little as she pulled off her coat and began unbuttoning her blouse.

"And it's time to go!" Meryl announced, dragging Vash off the dance floor. "You get Millie, I'll get Pedro."

* * *

Vash stood in the insurance girls' bedroom, watching Meryl wrestle an unwieldy Pedro through the doorframe. "Need help?"

"Nope," she replied, giving Pedro a final tug and stumbling back into the room. She sat the plush behemoth in the chair at her desk, before facing Vash. "How's she doing?"

Vash looked down at the woman in his arms. She murmured something, her head lolling against his bicep. "Oi, you okay there, tall girl?"

"I'm super! Bring on the punch and pie!" Millie exclaimed, while trying to lurch upright. Vash nearly dropped her, but held on tight. Moving to her bed, he set her down gently, keeping a firm grip in case she tried any more sudden movements.

Meryl moved to Millie's feet and began unlacing her boots. "Meryl?" Millie blinked in slow confusion at her friend.

"Yes, Millie." She'd pulled off the left boot and was working on the right.

"Did ya go nuts on him yet?"

Meryl felt her eyes go wide, and her cheeks and ears felt like they were on fire. "Go to sleep now, Millie! You need your rest!" she said spiritedly.

"Nuts on who? What's she talking about?" Vash asked, curiously noting Meryl's reaction.

"Oh, who knows? Silly Millie, right?" Meryl answered, perhaps a bit too hastily. She forced a laugh and shrugged, adding, "Anyway, I'm gonna get her changed. Meet me on the porch and we'll go watch the fireworks, okay?"

He eyed her suspiciously, but nodded his assent and headed down the stairs. Meryl breathed a sigh of relief and jerked off her partner's other boot with a little less tenderness than the first.

Once Millie was safely tucked away, Meryl made her way down to the porch, where Vash sat on the rocker, taking a lazy pull from a whiskey bottle. "Ready?" he asked brightly.

She resisted as he took her hand and started to lead her through the street. "Where are you going? Town's in the other direction."

"The cliffs," he answered, not slowing his pace. "Better view."

"But," Meryl looked back longingly as they moved further away from the glow of the town's festivities, "there won't be anyone up there."

"Yeah, so?"

"And it's a long walk."

"We have time. You getting lazy on me, insurance girl?"

"No, but..."

"Okay. Pick up the pace then." He tugged on her hand encouragingly, and she jogged a few steps to catch up. Three of the five moons were still completely dark, and the remaining two were mere slivers. She could barely make out Vash's white shirt as they began the ascent that would end at the top of the cliff.

"I can't see. I'm gonna trip."

He rearranged her hand so that she had a firm grip on his arm. "I won't let you fall." She could make out his teeth and knew that he was smiling. "I've got cat-like speed reflexes, remember?"

Meryl said nothing, stepping carefully as they climbed. She stumbled twice, but true to his word, Vash held her fast while she regained her footing. Eventually, her eyes adjusted to the dark, and she found she was able to make out quite a lot by starlight. They reached the apex of the trail, and Meryl sat down in the sand next to Vash, a few feel from the edge of the precipice.

Vash took a drink from his bottle and looked out at the stars. Below, Meryl could make out the town, and the music of revelry drifting up on the breeze.

"What's your family like?"

The question caught her off guard. "My family? Why?"

"I've just been thinking, you complain that_ I'm _secretive, but I don't really know anything about you. Millie's always talking about her family, but you never talk about yourself. I'm just curious." He offered her the bottle. She took it and brought the mouth to her lips, rolling the shot around on her tongue before she swallowed.

"Well," she began uncertainly, focusing on the comforting burn of the liquor as it travelled down her throat, "I don't really have a family."

"You're an orphan?"

"No, I..." she paused. She rolled the whiskey bottle between her hands, feeling the chill glass warm to her touch. "I'm an only child. My mother died having me. My grandfather taught me how to handle a gun when I was ten, but he died not too long afterward. I grew up living with my father. He's a plant engineer, actually, for the town of Bellus. You know it?"

Vash shook his head.

"Well, it's a pretty small place, only one plant," she continued. "It's where I grew up, just outside of December. I haven't spoken to him since I was seventeen though."

"Why not?" It was dark, but Meryl could make out his features well enough to see sympathy. Besides, it laced his voice when he spoke. But sympathy, when it was directed at her, unsettled Meryl. _This is why I don't talk about it. Hearing about my dead mom and my estranged father tends to make people look at me, well, like the way Vash is looking at me right now actually: like he just found an injured kitten all alone in an alleyway. _Then again, the topic of her family made her generally uneasy, even when the only one looking at her was her own reflection.

"I tried sending him a letter a few years ago," she admitted, "but I never heard back."

"But why'd you stop talking in the first place?"

"Well..." Meryl took another deep swallow from the bottle. She felt a little dizzy, and there was a pleasant lightness in her limbs. It was helping to ease the hollow feeling in her chest that took root whenever she thought about her father. Vash was looking at her expectantly. She searched the open sky beyond the bluff and chewed a frayed cuticle.

Realization dawned on Vash's face. "You don't want to talk about this."

"Not even a little." She laughed and handed the bottle back to him. "Thank you."

"So you're all alone then?"

"What? No! I have Millie and..."

"But you're not honest with Millie. I mean, you hold back with her." He was as serious as she'd ever seen him. And he was really pissing her off. It was true that Meryl didn't have the kind of personal relationships where one offered up his or her heart. But there were good reasons for it, and many advantages to living the way she did. Where the hell would everyone be if they just plopped their hearts and souls down on the table? What would it accomplish, other than making a person appear weak and self-indulgent? And he was one to talk!

"Like you're one to talk!"

"But it's hard for me."

"Oh, cry me a river! Like you corner the market?" She crossed her arms with a huff. When he didn't respond after a few moments, or even indicate that he'd heard her, she softened a bit and asked, "So, why's it so hard for you?"

"Because..." He stopped. She was beginning to think that was the end of his answer, but he finally continued. "Because everyone I know is going to die. And that would be okay, except that I won't. The people I come in contact with seem to keep meeting violent ends. And even those that don't, they grow up and age. I suppose it's disquieting to watch yourself getting older, and then you look over at me: I never look older than twenty-four." He quoted the 'approximate age' listed on his wanted poster with a humorless laugh. "I never change. I just collect a few more scars. People are more comfortable keeping me at a distance, and I guess... I guess a part of me is more comfortable that way too."

Meryl had thought about what his life must have been like. She'd been thinking about it since the day she learned what he really was, so nothing he said came as a surprise. It was the fact that he was actually saying it, out loud, and to her, that had her gobsmacked. She had no idea what she could possibly say in response to his confession. "Um, I think you look at least twenty-five," she tried.

Vash rewarded her with a chuckle for her efforts. He reached across the sand in the dark, and slipped his fingers through hers. "It's just safer on your own. You know what I mean?" Meryl did know. To let someone in, to trust and love them completely, was like handing them a knife and waiting for the day they decided to slit your throat. Meryl had thought that she was so strong, to prevent anyone ever gaining that power over her again. But sometimes, like now for example, a little voice whispered what that really made her. Vash gave her the saddest hint of a smile. "Guess that makes me a coward, huh?"

"People do what they have to, Vash." It sounded lame falling on her own ears, and she desperately wished she had something better to say.

He shifted closer to her, and she could feel the length of his body, a warm line down her side against the chilled night air. His breath moved her hair as he spoke. "But it's lonely, right?"

A loud bang and a flash of light made them both jump about twelve feel in the air. Meryl made a small shriek and noted with amusement that Vash made a sound that wasn't too far off. She laughed at them both, and settled back on her elbows to watch the fireworks display.

Vash liked fireworks. A lot actually. Which is why it was odd that he found himself not paying very much attention to the sky in front of him. In fact, he couldn't seem to tear his eyes off of Meryl. The way each flash in the sky illuminated her profile from a slightly different angle. The way she jumped a little at each boom. The way she was smiling because she didn't realize she was being watched.

Eventually, she felt his eyes on her and turned her head. This would have been a good time to quickly avert his gaze and pretend he'd been watching the fireworks all along. Or, at least, he should have done something about the expression he wore, which was worshipful and obvious. But somehow, he didn't want to lie to Meryl, either outright or by evasion. Maybe, it would have been more correct to say that he didn't particulary have the strength to tell himself another lie either.

Vash didn't bother to analyze any of this. He was too busy pulling himself closer to her, looking into her wide eyes, and leaning in until he was as close as he could get before it became a classifiable embrace. She was frozen as if afraid the slightest movement could send the world crashing down around her ears. Her breaths were shallow. Her gaze darted from his eyes to his mouth and back again.

This was his chance to say something profoundly meaningful, and possibly clever, that would irrevocably alter the course of both of their lives from this point into eternity. _Deep breath. Make it good. _"You in love with me, insurance girl?" _Of course, anything I could have said would have been better than what just came out of my mouth._

Just like he predicted, as the ill-planned sentence bypassed his brain-to-mouth filter and exited his throat, Meryl's reaction was immediate and severe.

"What?! No!" Her eyebrows crunched together in a deep V, her teeth clenched. He had only fractions of a second remaining before she hit him and marched away. Maybe, if he acted quickly, there was still a chance.

He caught her cheek in his hand, commanding her gaze, trying to let everything he was feeling play out on his face. Oh God, what _was_ he feeling? What was he doing? _Say something, you idiot!_ Vash licked his lips and tried again, "So, you'd probably be pretty mad if I kissed you then?" _Like that's any better!?_

Vash had expected to take a hand across the jaw, but Meryl responded so softly, her words were little more than whispers. "I'd be furious." It should have promised a beating. Instead, it promised surrender. He took a breath of the air expelled from her lungs. She tasted like sugar and whiskey. She was watching him through half-closed eyes, expectantly.

Maybe it was because he'd been trying so hard to reach Knives, or it could be that her emotions were screaming in her skull, but suddenly Meryl's thoughts entered his mind unbidden._ "Don't hurt me, Vash."_ He heard her as clearly as if she'd spoken out loud, and he knew it was the final plea of the conquered. She'd lost a battle she'd been fighting with herself. He was one touch away from owning her heart, and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop him, to protect herself. All those things he'd been feeling before, and had chosen not to analyze, suddenly started wondering if this was the best thing for her, for them.

With his lips about to brush hers, he looked into her eyes, and hesitated. It was only for a moment, not even the length of a breath, but she saw it. It was long enough for her to feel rejected and mount a fresh defense. Both her small hands were instantly on his chest, forcefully shoving him backward. "Don't make fun of me, you bastard!"

She was on her feet, obviously intent on leaving as quickly as possible. While he expected her fury, he didn't understand her choice of words. "I wasn't making fun of..."

At the sound of his voice, she gave up her hasty retreat, and decided to stay and fight. "Are you crazy!? What? You think I'm some kind of easy mark!?"

"Meryl, be careful."

"You know, they warned me that you were some kind of notorious rake! What an idiot!"

"Meryl, look where you're pacing."

"I can't believe I let myself get dragged up here and fed half a bottle of whiskey and...!"

"Meryl, STOP!"

The urgency and authority in his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. As the finale of the firework display lit the sky to near daylight, she looked down to see her feet precariously close to the edge of the cliff. She tried to move backward and the soft earth began to crumble beneath her toes. Between the booze in her system, and dizzying drop in front of her, Meryl felt the world spin. Her voice came in a small, terrified tremor, "Vash?"

"It's okay, just don't move."

"Help."

"I'm moving up right behind you. On the count of: One. Two. Three!" A long arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back in a single swift movement, as the ground dissolved beneath her feet. She landed with a light thump in Vash's lap as he skidded to a halt.

Meryl allowed herself to exhale her relief before fighting against the arms that held her. "Get your hands off me, lecher."

She hastily stood and started knocking the sand from her clothing. Vash followed her to his feet, annoyance evident in every feature. "Lecher!? Please. Like you didn't want it?"

Vash then found out what it meant to have the taste slapped from one's mouth.

Meryl stared at him with wide, surprised eyes, the violent appendage covering her mouth. He took a stunned moment to gingerly touch his swelling cheek before attempting to explain. "When I said 'it', I didn't meant _it_ it, I meant..." he sighed heavily. "Look, this got out of hand... Is that really what you think of me, Meryl? You think I brought you up here to take advantage of you?"

"No, but..."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, good. Because I've always trusted you and I'd hate for the feeling to be one-sided. Now," his eyes narrowed into an expression that Meryl thought looked deeply impatient and vaguely threatening, "will you please shut up and take my goddamn hand before you fall on your ass?"

Vash had never been angry with her, Meryl thought as he led her away from the cliff. He'd pushed her away, he'd yelled at her, but he'd never been angry. Before now. Well, why wouldn't he be? She'd over-reacted and accused him of being an ill-intentioned pervert. She'd slapped him as hard as she'd ever slapped anyone in her whole life. And why? Because he was right. Because she had wanted it. Wanted him. And that scared her worse than any life-or-death situation she'd landed in over the past few years. She really was a coward. She'd mistaken her ability to get by without anyone else as strength. Now she was just pathetic, and being led through the dark like a child. _You will not cry. You will absolutely not cry. You will not cry._

"I'm leaving." Vash's voice shattered her mantra.

"Of course you are." _At least it's too dark for your crying to be seen. Try and be quiet about it._ "When?"

"What do you mean, 'of course'? I'm not bolting on you two, or anything. I'm going tomorrow, but I'll only be gone for five days, seven tops. I need to ask you and Millie to take care of Knives."

"You're leaving Knives?" Meryl stopped, jerking Vash to a halt. "What if he wakes up?"

"He won't. I promise. I just have to take care of something. I won't be gone any longer than I have to."

"What are you going to do?"

"If I told you," Vash looked at her seriously, "I'd have to kill you."

_Well at least he isn't angry anymore. _Meryl's laugh was edged with a sniffle, and he inspected her face more carefully. "Are you crying?"

"No," she responded, humiliated as a hiccup uncovered her lie.

"I'm sorry." He gave her the second honest-to-goodness hug he ever had, only this time it didn't disintegrate into spinning and bone-crunching. "I'm a broom-headed idiot."

She laughed against his chest. "I know."

It was nice. Being held like this. She closed her eyes, relaxed her muscles, listened to his heart beating beneath her ear. _Quiet, brain._ "You do realize that it's my job to keep track of you? You really won't tell me where you're going?"

"Can't. Not because I don't trust you. I just... can't."

"Will it be dangerous?"

"No, nothing like that. I just have to pick something up."

"Good. Because if you got yourself killed, and abandoned Millie and me with your brother, I'd kill myself just to track you down in hell and beat the snot out of you."

"Meryl," he smiled into her hair, "you know I disapprove of suicide more than anything."


	3. Open Your Eyes

**Title:** _After the Fall_

**Author:** Girl.Interpreted

**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping

**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know

**Genre:** Drama/Sci-Fi/Romance/Action/Adventure/_Perhaps_ mildly Hentai in later chapters

**Rating:** T- I've reduced the rating because I'm realizing that this story is not going to be as wildly controversial as I anticipated. (Plus, I blatantly just want more hits) I'll let you know if anything threatens to offend your delicate sensibilities.

**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.

**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary: **It's becoming apparent that Vash didn't have much of a plan as to how he was going to save Knives, apart from kicking his ass and lugging him back to the insurance girls. Hmm... maybe he should have kept that gun. Speaking of insurance girls, he didn't really have a plan for what he was going to do about Meryl, either. Oh, I'm sure it will all work out. I mean, all he has to do is reform his genocidal sociopathic twin, sort out his feelings for Meryl, save humanity, save the plants, and live happily ever after by the credo of Love and Peace... yeah, right.

**A/N:** Two betas? How does a girl get so lucky? Sugar Pill was kind enough to grace this little project with her literary prowess. If you like this story, you'll love her stuff. Why? Because she's awesome: The ease of Salinger meets the succinctness of Steinbeck- in easily digestible fanfiction form. Plus, she's funny. Again, thank you to Alaena Night who is intelligent, talented, and freaking adorable.

_Additionally_, according to my brief and arbitrary calculations, three point zero-six-nine percent of readers are reviewing. This is unacceptable and saddens me a great deal. If you're not reviewing you should give it a try. I'll probably send you a nice thank you note, or a toy surprise like at the dentist. To those who _are_ reviewing: we'll all get together later and you can draw straws to see who gets my first-born.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Open Your Eyes**

* * *

What was it about a mild hangover that made oatmeal and tomato juice so enjoyable?

Millie's middle big brother had introduced her to the miraculous combination the morning after her fifteenth birthday. Sure, she was young, but it wasn't like she'd never had a drink before. Her parents were furious. They believed that children should be raised with certain restrictions and guidelines, for their own protection. Of course, Millie had six older siblings to pave the way for her future debauchery. By the time it was her turn to be a teenager, her parents were a little worn out. Slipping her sloe-gin fizzes at her birthday barbecue had been a step too far however. None of her siblings would escape unscathed. Except, maybe, her big big sister, Olivia, who'd been against it from the start.

Oh yes, oatmeal and tomato juice. With a little tobasco in the juice and a little sugar on the oats. Funny, how no one besides her and her middle big brother seemed to like it. She thought it couldn't be more perfect after a night of drinking. "Don't you agree, Pedro-kun?"

Pedro's big glass eyes stared unblinkingly from his position across the table from her. She'd lugged him downstairs after she'd heard Meryl leave. She'd heard Sempai getting dressed, but upon looking at the clock and discovering the hour, Millie opted to roll over and go back to sleep. It wasn't longer than a few minutes later that she heard the front door close, followed shortly afterward by Vash's heavier feet on the stairs.

Groaning, she had risen from her deliciously warm sheets so that she could go speak with Mr. Vash in the kitchen downstairs. He was leaving. She wasn't sure how she knew. She just did. He got this funny feeling about him whenever he was getting ready to go. She didn't bother to change out of her pajamas, she just grabbed Pedro as an afterthought, and headed down to meet him.

"Good morning, Mr. Vash," she'd said.

"Hey!" His smile had been brighter when he'd seen the sight of her balancing Pedro on her shoulder. "Didn't think you'd be up this early, but I'm glad because I gotta talk to you."

She'd let him take her stuffed friend and seat him in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. "I have to leave for a few days," he'd begun.

"Yeah, I figured. Don't worry, Mr. Vash. Now that the well is finished I've been offered a job working irrigation. I can ask the foreman for an early shift, so with Meryl working at night, one of us will always be here with Mr. Knives. Just don't take too long because I really hate getting up early."

Vash had looked shocked and kind of dumb. Well, she figured, he'd probably been working on how he was going to tell her and here she'd gone and figured it out on her own. "You don't mind?" he'd asked.

"Of course not, silly. Whatever Sempai and I can do to help, we will, okay?" she'd stated simply, then added, "I'm gonna make some tomato juice and oatmeal, want some?"

Obviously, Mr. Vash was not the man of taste she'd hoped him to be, because he made a sour face before masking it with a smile. "No, that's okay, but thanks! I'm gonna run out and pick some stuff up. If Meryl gets back before I do, would you tell her I'll be back before I leave?"

"I sure will. But I have to tell you," she'd started crossly, "I heard her sniffling when she came in last night, and if you keep making Sempai cry, it's going to be hard to keep forgiving you. You know how Meryl hates to cry."

"Why do you think _I_ had anything to do with her crying?" He'd had the decency to look contrite.

"Because you _always_ have something to do with her crying."

"Well!" He'd pointed to his faintly bruised cheek. "She hit me!"

"Gee, Mr. Vash! Why would Sempai go and do something like that?"

"Because she's insane?"

Millie had thought on that statement for a moment. "Well, yes. But I doubt that's why she hit you."

He had shrugged noncommittally, and Millie had sent him out the door, extracting a promise that he would return with eggs and canned pudding.

That had been about a half an hour ago, and Millie had spent the time enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Neither Vash nor Meryl had yet returned.

She worried about Meryl. Wondered how she was taking the news of Vash's impending departure. If history was any indication, it wasn't well. Millie had once had a real puppy named Pedro. A ferocious looking wolfhound that stood as tall as her hip, with a head the size of a watermelon and a disposition more mild than a kitten. She'd rescued him from the Dickerson boys, who'd beaten him with a stick. She'd nursed the animal back to health. When he'd recovered, she kept him tied to a length of rope, noting how he looked off longingly into the distance. She didn't want him to run away and never come back.

Olivia had told her to set him free. "If he loves you," she advised, "he'll always return."

Millie had released him, tearfully watching as he raced away, but smiling at how free and powerful the animal had looked. Sure enough, he was back in a few hours. That dog stayed by her side, slept at the foot of her bed, until the day he died.

It was sad that Sempai had never learned this lesson. Mr. Vash had left more times than she could count, but the fact that he always found his way back to them was proof enough to Millie of his devotion. The insurance girls were special to him. She wished Meryl could see what was so clear.

Millie had grown up on her family's farm outside the city of September. She could have stayed working there for the rest of her days, and that's exactly what she told the Bernardelli recruiter she planned to do. Her father had stepped in. "You're very special, Millie. The grades you get in school? I could barely get by back in my day. Never even finished. But you? You're something else. You've got something special to share with the world."

So Millie had gotten in touch with the recruiter and told him she'd changed her mind. Oliva, who'd been traveling since before Millie could remember, had some parting words of advice, "The world out there can be very cruel, Millie," she'd said, "but it can also be so beautiful, it would break your heart. Take the bad with the good, always forgive, and you'll be better off than you know."

Millie had arrived in the city of December and worked her way up from the bottom. Her adaptability and resourcefulness, combined with her accommodating disposition, made her an ideal candidate for fieldwork. Her first assignment? The new junior assistant to Meryl Stryfe. 'Derringer' Meryl. A woman whose reputation preceded her. She was young, but more accomplished than some nearly twice her age. A luminary in the field of risk prevention. She demanded nothing but the best from herself and those around her. She'd been through five junior assistants in the past six months. Two had cried, one a young man seven years her senior.

Millie introduced herself with an eye-eating smile. "Hello, ma'am! I'm Millie Thompson, your new partner, and I'm just sure we're going to have the best time together!"

Meryl had dispassionately examined Millie's goofy expression and outstretched hand. "Let's hope, for both our sakes, that you're not as spineless and incompetent as the rest of the idiots they keep sending me."

From that point on, they were together everyday. Meryl had softened once she realized that her new junior partner was neither incompetent nor spineless. Millie discovered that she greatly admired her new boss and budding friend. She was strong, determined, and focused. She was fearless when the situation called for it, and she never gave up. Millie came to know, intuitively, that Meryl did this job for the same reason she did: to help people. She saw it in the way Meryl always worked to make sure a client's claim was paid. She never made someone cut through the red tape on their own. Sure, it was supposed to be their job to save the company money, but Meryl's priority was helping people protect the dreams invested in their property. She understood her work to be more important than a damaged home or ruined business. These were the efforts and hopes of ordinary people.

This was the only clue Millie had to her Sempai's true nature. She was otherwise perfectly reserved and professional. She smiled pleasantly when required, her face most often a perfect, socially appropriate void. And she _never_ cried.

Until, of course, the duo got their biggest assignment ever: Vash the Stampede. That man had been wreaking havoc on Sempai's calm exterior (not to mention her emotional interior) since practically the day they'd met.

_Vash._ Millie smiled at the thought of him. Of all the dangerous outlaws she'd ever met, Mr. Vash was, by far, her absolute favorite. He reminded her of her little big brother, Vince. Being the two youngest, Millie and Vince were close. Her brother was a bit of a tough guy. Being the youngest boy in a big family will do that to a person. But Millie could remember late summers, running around in the early evening, helping Vince carefully free fireflies that had strayed too close to a spider's web. She smiled again as she thought of her brother's large fingers, nimbly releasing a glowing bug, barely disrupting the web that trapped it.

Vince, of course, knew all about Mr. Vash and Sempai. Her whole family did. She'd heard there was a bet going on between her brothers and little big sister as to who would break first. Even Mom was in on it; her money was on Vash. Vince had written her a letter not so long ago. "What's the matter with this guy?" he'd asked. "Lean in, part your lips, kiss the girl! Simple!" This from a man whose fiancé had to pop _him_ the question.

That reminded Millie: she should really send another letter back home. Everyone was extra worried about her since she'd told them what had happened to Wolfwood. Of course, she spared the details of the exact nature of her relationship with the ill-fated priest. That information had been saved for a lengthy letter she'd sent directly to Olivia. Though mail was known to be unreliable, especially given the wandering nature of Millie's job, Olivia's response had been swift. She received the telegram on the second day she was in their current home:

_I'm so sorry my darling (STOP) You shouldn't have learned how unjust the world can be in this way (STOP) But you did the right thing (STOP) Your heart will both thank and hate you for that night for as long as you live (STOP) I love you dearly (STOP) (POST SCRIPT) Mom wants you to come home (STOP) Don't you dare (END)_

As always, Olivia was more correct than she could possibly know. That heaving, beating organ in her chest threatened to absorb her in agony and joy each time she dared remember. What his skin felt like. How he tasted. The words soft in her ear. The way he'd looked at her.

"I'm home! Anyone awake?" Meryl startled her so badly that she dropped her tomato juice right into her oatmeal.

"Oh, sugar!" Millie swore. She grabbed a napkin to mop up the spreading mess.

"Sorry, Millie!"

The front door opened again as Vash walked in. "What'd you do now, short girl?"

Meryl opened her mouth to respond (angrily, Millie was sure) but something Vash was holding stopped her. He had a paper bag, similar to the one Meryl was holding, and even from where she was sitting, Millie could smell coffee. _Really_ good coffee. Meryl leaned closer to the bag and took a deep breath in through her nose. On the exhale she asked, "What's that?"

"A peace offering." Vash eyed the bag Meryl held with equal interest. "What's that?"

"Peace offering." Meryl smiled wryly and handed him a bag that must have held at least three dozen fresh donuts.

"God-_dess_!" Vash exclaimed, enunciating each syllable. "I forgive you completely!"

Meryl bristled. "Forgive me? You jackass..." The steaming paper cup he thrust into her hands cut short her most recent contumely. Her indignance forgotten, Meryl took a sip and sighed contentedly. "Mmm. This is amazing. Where'd you get it?"

"I went to the grocer to get some supplies and he showed me all this stuff he picked up from the traveling merchants." There was nothing like new wealth to draw in the traders who dealt in luxury goods. With the festival yesterday, the town had been full of such retailers. "So I saw this fancy coffee, and he was nice enough to brew some up for me."

"Maybe he feels guilty for standing idly by while you were dragged behind a moving vehicle." Vash's face fell, and Meryl looked away. "Sorry."

Millie understood Meryl. She had a hard time forgiving people. Mr. Jacobs, the grocer, had been one of the townspeople who'd looked on with satisfaction as their friend was nearly killed. Of course, Millie understood Mr. Jacobs as well. The Vash he saw wasn't _their_ Vash, the kind and wonderful person they both loved so dearly, he was 'Vash the Stampede'. And 'Vash the Stampede' was a heartless murderer who, in Mr. Jacobs' eyes, deserved death and worse.

"I think it says a lot about the people of this town that they're kind to me at all. They've been very generous."

"I'll be sure to send a card expressing my eternal gratitude for sparing your life." Meryl's sarcasm had a sorrowful edge, like maybe she was a little grateful to the man who'd chosen not to shoot Vash dead as he lay in the sand.

Millie decided a change of subject was in order. "What else did you get at the store, Mr. Vash?"

"Oh!" Vash said, remembering something. "I got eggs and pudding. And, I got you some orange juice. It's fresh, see?"

"Wow, thanks!" Millie took a swallow of the juice, more pulp than liquid. It reminded her of home. "This is great. You _are_ my favorite!"

"Your favorite what?" He seemed confused.

"My favorite dangerous outlaw I've ever met!" she supplied.

"Thanks, tall girl. That's quite a compliment."

"You're very welcome. It's true, you know."

Vash gave her an adoring smile. Much like the way Vince smiled at her when she was being cute. He retrieved a dallon of water from the groceries and put it into his duffel along with a few other supplies. "I'm gonna get changed and then I'll head out."

When Vash had bounded up the stairs, and they could hear him shuffling around above their heads, Meryl asked if she could move Pedro to the floor. Millie told her that she didn't think he'd mind, and soon Meryl was sitting in his recently vacated chair. A few minutes later Vash was back, dressed from head to toe in his body armor, the close-fitting outfit that had more buckles and snaps than could really be necessary. In place of his red duster was an ordinary khaki one, but with the hair and the sunglasses, they could almost pretend they were looking at the Humanoid Typhoon.

"Bye, insurance girls! Miss me while I'm gone!"

"Bye, Mr. Vash! Have fun and be careful!"

He smiled and tossed his duffel over his shoulder, heading out the front door.

"Hey, broomhead! Try not to blow anything up or get shot, huh?"

"Yes, Meryl!" he called over his shoulder.

"I mean it, Vash!"

"Scout's honor!" he held two fingers over his parting head, and disappeared from view.

* * *

So, the idiot was leaving the village. Knives couldn't have asked for a better opportunity. He was still so damned weak though! After Vash had left that morning, he'd tried to open his eyes. The light had been blinding, painful. It was a few minutes before he could properly take in his surroundings. Shit-hole. Dogs were kenneled better than this. It took twenty long minutes before he was able to coax a wiggle from his fingertips. And the results still weren't in on his toes.

Still, he could feel his strength returning. Especially now that he didn't have to expend energy deflecting Vash's clumsy mental probes. Perhaps, in a few days, he'd be well enough to... what? He had to get out of here. That much was apparent. But there was no way he'd be able to stand, let alone walk, before his brother returned. With reinforcements.

No, he had to be gone before Vash got back.

The room blinked into darkness as his heavy eyelids fluttered shut. He was so tired again. He'd give himself two days to rest, and then... something.

* * *

Millie was still up when Meryl got home from work. It was strange. Her partner had gotten up before dawn, her first day at her new job. Meryl had been certain she'd be exhausted, and asleep long before the bar closed. But there she was, up and even energetic, her hair still damp from a shower, waiting for her.

"How was work?" Millie greeted her.

"It was okay. What are you still doing awake?"

"I thought you'd want to talk." 

Meryl unwrapped her cloak and threw it over a chair. "What about?"

"Why'd you hit Mr. Vash the other night? And why were you crying?"

Meryl sighed. "Oh, that."

Millie waited patiently for her to expound the subject. Meryl noted she was drinking tea, and that there was an extra mug on her side of the table. _Ambushed._ "We had a... misunderstanding."

"Wow. Must have been one heck of a misunderstanding. Why'd you hit him though?"

"I'm insane?" Meryl offered.

Millie considered this theory for the second time. "Yes. But, I'm still saying that's not why you hit him. And you must have hit him pretty hard. Mr. Vash doesn't bruise that easily."

"He had a bruise?" Meryl felt unspeakably guilty as her friend nodded. "I didn't notice."

Millie waited in patient silence once more, smiling gently. So understanding. Compassionate. "I guess I just got scared and overreacted."

"What were you scared of, Meryl?" She used her real name. Not 'Sempai', or another of her usual formal terms. Millie was serious, and Meryl was in trouble. Would it really be so bad? To talk about it? If anyone was going to understand, it would be Millie.

Meryl took a deep breath and poured herself a cup of tea. She could already feel the tears forming, making her nose stuffy and choking her throat. "Millie, I want to tell you something. But I'm so... I'm so afraid."

Millie's features tightened in concern. She reached across the table and firmly gripped Meryl's hand. "But why?"

Meryl leaned forward so that her hair hid her eyes. Her tears, with no resistance, made small growing dots as they fell on her friend's sleeve. _Stop it, damn it! Stop crying! _"I don't know what you'd think of me."

"Oh Meryl!" Millie came around the table, putting her arms around her narrow shoulders. "I love you, Meryl. Your my best friend in the world! Nothing you could tell me would change that."

Meryl looked up into Millie's topaz eyes, so full of warmth despite their cool shade, and found that she believed her. And if Millie could forgive her, then maybe she'd forgive herself. She took a deep, steadying breath, and did the bravest thing she could think of. "When I was seventeen... I fell in love..."

* * *

It had been two days since he'd left his brother in the insurance girls' care. Two days of walking through sand so deep it made his legs fight for every step. Sunshine so oppressive he thought it would burn a hole through the top of his head. Nights so cold his sweat-soaked body shivered, until the only thing he could hear was the clatter of his teeth.

Damn, but he missed that red coat. The one that was heat and cold resistant. The one that kept the sand from working into his body armor until he wanted to tear off his skin. Seemed like a good idea to leave it at the time. Poetic even. Thank goodness he was able to hitch a ride part of the way with that toma truck. The driver had been a real nice lady. And, at last, his destination had been reached.

Carcasses. And not a minute too soon. He'd licked the last drop of water from the mouth of his canteen about five iles ago. And with the midday suns beating down without apology, he had been starting to feel a bit dizzy. He made his way through the center of the still abandoned town, gratefully keeping to the shade of empty buildings. The monument still bore his twin's name scrawled in red. The bullet hole above the 'i' was right where he left it. _Will people ever return here, or did Knives manage to taint the very ground it was built on?_

Vash made the turns down streets that would lead him to the plant. When he arrived, he took a moment to refill his canteen with clean, flat plant water. He approached the surface of the bulb, removing several items from his duffel. He hesitated before stretching his fingers against the glass, laying his forehead on the cool surface. He felt a sudden rush of fear. _I mean, what are the chances it actually worked?_

* * *

Heaven was not at all what Nicholas Wolfwood had been expecting. First off, he hadn't been expecting heaven at all. He'd no right to ask for forgiveness, and a moment of clarity before death shouldn't have changed that. Yet here he was, suspended in perfection, held in the arms of an angel. There was no fear, no hatred. Time didn't exist, and he was overcome by a sense of rightness in the world.

He floated, as if pleasantly drugged, into eternity. It seemed almost like it had always been this way. As if the events of his life were nothing but a distant dream, the details fading upon waking. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a truly conscious thought, which is perhaps, why it was so jarring when he did. _Vash?_ He felt him like a sudden aura, like one would experience a particularly pleasant smell. _Wondered how long it would be before you got yourself killed too._

Wolfwood had once theorized that the happiest and safest time in anyone's life was spent in utero. What a terrible fate to be ripped from the womb, to live out a violent existence in open air. He was about to experience it for the second time.

Vash accepted the priest body from his sister's arms. He steadied the familiar form as it coughed and retched fluid from its lungs. "Wolfwood, you okay? Can you hear me? It's me. Vash."

The slate-blue eyes that he recognized as Wolfwood's stared hard into his face. His hair was a little longer than Vash remembered, and was plastered wetly across his forehead. Vash could tell that he was horribly confused. His eyes gave up on Vash's face and started flashing around the room, trying to make sense of what they saw. Finally, his his head came back around, and as he looked at Vash his brows finally knit in recognition. "Spiky?" He blinked a few more times as his mind caught up with his eyes. "I'm not dead, am I?"

Vash let out a joyful sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and threw his arms around his friend, openly crying. He embraced him tightly, gratefully, heedless to the fact that his friend was naked and soaking wet.

The recovery of Wolfwood's senses was gaining speed. "Goddammit, Tongari! Get off of me! What's the matter with you? I can't breathe!"

"Sorry, but I'm just so happy to see you!" Vash's crying slowed and he hiccuped back a sob. He released the priest, his arms and the front of his jacket now soaked. "When I found you in the church you were barely alive. I didn't know what to do, so I did the first thing I could think of and left you with my sister here, and it seems like she took really good care of you, and I'm just so happy!"

Vash's overjoyed blubbering started fresh, and Wolfwood was forced to extend an arm to fend off another fierce embrace. "How long ago was this?"

"About two months," Vash sniffled.

"Two months!?" Wolfwood stared incredulously as Vash nodded.

"Oh, here." Vash handed Wolfwood a towel. "And I brought you some clothes. It's pretty much everything I own that's black."

Wolfwood accepted the dark bundle, still trying to process what Vash had told him. He'd thought he was dead, and here all along he'd been inside a plant bulb. "What did you tell the girls?"

"Um... that you were dead."

"**What!?**"

"Well, I didn't think this was going to work!" Vash defended against Wolfwood's anger. He smiled and added, "Wanna see your grave?"

The preacher man didn't seem to appreciate the humor. "For Christ's sake, Spiky! You really need to have every inch or your ass kicked! Where the hell is my cross?"

Vash nervously bit his lip. "Well, it's with my gun."

Wolfwood noted Vash's gun-belt which hung weightless and empty at his side. "Which is where?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"Err... with my coat."

"Knock it off, needle noggin!" Wolfwood poked a threatening finger at Vash's chest.

"Okay, okay. Jeez! I had it out with Knives and sort of left everything in the desert."

"Knives?" Wolfwood stilled at the name. He was afraid to ask. "What happened?"

"I won." Vash's eyes cut through him as he spoke. "He can be saved, Wolfwood. He's back with the girls, but he's still unconscious."

Wolfwood felt a dark wall of rage and terror crash over his head. "You... you left... that _maniac_... alone... with _our_ girls?!"

Vash nodded solemnly.

His arm swung, seemingly of its own volition. Despite being dead for two months, he felt surprisingly strong. He found himself standing over the gunman he'd just struck. "You son of a bitch! I should kill you!"

"Who else was I going to leave him with while I collected your ass?" Vash turned his head and spit blood on the ground. "He's completely out of it! Totally harmless. I wouldn't put them in danger."

Wolfwood seethed. He hurriedly pulled on the shirt Vash had given him, shaking his head. "You just don't get it, Spiky. He's your own brother and you just don't get it." He reached out a hand to help Vash off the ground. "Well, come on then."

"Where we going?" Vash asked.

"To go get our guns, and get the hell back to the girls, before Knives eats them or something."

Vash frowned. "I told you, they're fine."

Wolfwood ignored his assertion. "You had better've brought me some smokes, needle noggin." He rummaged through Vash's duffel finding his sunglasses, and eventually, a brand new pack of cigarettes. "Ah, good man. You're not a total waste after all."

Vash closed up the bag as Wolfwood gratefully lit an uncharacteristically straight cigarette. "I figured you'd hit me if I didn't," he mumbled. "Lot of good that did me."

"Quit your belly-aching, Tongari. You're lucky that's all I did. Now, let's go clean up your mess before it gets any worse."

* * *

**Yet another A/N:** You may have noticed that I brought up the events of ep. 25 here. Sugar Pill pointed out to me that it's an important, but often ignored plot point. I told her about my theories on that episode and she suggested that I share my musings with you all. If you don't care for Trigun psychological interpretation, please feel free to ignore this mini-analytical essay:

Episode 25 always gives me trouble. I mean, what Meryl does changes everything for Vash. It's the reason he's not emotionally crippled when he faces Knives, and it's the moment he decides that he doesn't have to kill his brother after all. "Take care of Knives" had a very different meaning for Vash before this point. But as important as Meryl's stand in the sand is, it's just always struck me as out of character. I mean, Meryl isn't the unconditionally forgiving, super-idealistic visionary that Rem was, is she? Meryl's supposed to pissed off as all hell that these idiots dared to lay a finger on him. Shouldn't she be busting out her mega-phone? Having a 'talk' with the man in charge? The whole speech would have made more sense coming out of Millie's mouth actually, so why Meryl? And then there's the fact that this is the first time that Vash shows open affection towards Meryl- only after he has a vision of Rem superimposed over Meryl's face. What? He likes her now that he realizes she looks like his dead mom? Creepy! (Please see Sugar Pill's "Condensed T R I G U N" chapters 13 & 23 for a delightful exploration of just how creepy this can get.)

Theories:

Vash _is_ the unconditionally forgiving, super-idealistic visionary that Rem was. And he is very, very alone in this position. Nobody really gets him. Everyone is always questioning him, etc.

Meryl is an unknown. I mean, we know less about her history than any other character. There has to be a reason for this, and I believe that Meryl's facade is more ironclad and intricate than anyone else's (and they're all wearing masks, right? Check out Alaena Night's fic "Masquerade" if you don't believe me.) So, this is my theory for Meryl's actions in ep 25, and why it seemed so 'out of character': This is a glimpse of what lies beneath. This is who Meryl really is or could have been. And what Vash sees when he looks at her, is not her physical resemblance to Rem, but her emotional resemblance. And because Rem and Vash share an emotional ideology, this means that Meryl understands. Deep down, she understands what Vash has been going on and on about with this Love and Peace business, and her understanding brings him back to himself. That's why he hugs her. It's like, 'thank you for reminding me of who I am. Thank you for letting me see, even if it's for just a moment and you're going to cover it back up any second, that I'm not alone.' And of course, it's only a matter of a few moments before Meryl does slams the gates again, and her usual persona rushes back into place, and she hits him. boom. But he saw. And it's only a matter of time...

Well, now that I'm done with theories, and shamelessly promoting the writing of my betas, I'll leave you to marinate in what you've just read, and to wait impatiently (or not) for the next installment. :)


	4. Mad Love

**Title:** _After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood (welcome back, buddy!), Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know  
**Genre:** Drama/Sci-Fi/Romance/Action/Adventure/Perhaps mildly Hentai in later chapters  
**Rating: **T- for violence, language, sexual content (okay, so, starting to get **slightly sexy**. Don't get too excited or you may find yourself a bit frustrated. We're talking sensuality and a suggestive situation. It's **not a lemon**, people. And there is quite a bit of **swearing** in this chapter, though I feel it's appropriate.)  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling. This chapter gets an **extra disclaimer**, because the manga topping just got extra crunchy. There are references, as well as a chunk of dialogue taken directly from Trigun Maximum. If you can tell me what the quote is and which volume it's from, my beta Alaena Night will provide you with a lifetime supply of chili-cheese dogs. (She's good like that.)  
**Summary:** If you don't know by now, go back to chapter one :-P  
**A/N:** Sorry for the delay. You must be used to me posting every few days, and I made you wait a whole week for this one. But there were extenuating circumstances, including, but not limited to, the fact that I lost heat and had to wear mitten inside (_so_ not conducive to typing). This is a really long chapter though, so I hope you'll all be pleased. Nearly eight _thousand _(7,954) words! Bonsai!! Once again, I will take this opportunity to thank my betas. No matter how many times I thank them, it will never be enough. I'm honored that they take the time to offer their opinions and insights. The same to those of you readers who take the time to review. Sometimes I just can't get over it. Of all the things you could be doing, you choose to read my story and tell me what you think. Somehow a smiley is inadequate, but I will type one anyway- ( :-D)

* * *

**Chapter 4: Mad Love**

* * *

Meryl sat in front of her typewriter, fingers hovering over the keys. It should have been making satisfying clacking and popping noises by now, but she was having trouble with this report. Unable to write, she'd been resigned to staring at the blank sheet, and drinking coffee. Six cups later... 

Well, at least Millie was at work. Her reaction to Meryl's confession the night before had been nothing less than uncompromising sympathy and firm acceptance. And while a part of her felt relief at exposing her secrets, another part of her just felt, well, exposed. She was glad she didn't yet have to face her partner in the light of day.

She thought back, wincing at how ridiculous she must have looked. She had cried steadily for two full hours, which she was sure was some kind of a record. Not even Vash could beat that. How long had she been fortifying that dam? What did she expect would happen when it finally burst? Well, she supposed, she hadn't really thought about it. That was the point: If it bothers you, don't think about it.

It was a doomed plan from the start.

Now she was like one washed out to sea. One who'd never bothered to learn to swim. She felt utterly unequipped to deal with the consequences of nearly a decade of denial. Last night, after Millie had gone to bed, she really did have a panic attack. Lying on her bed in the dark, the invasive sensation of terror had stampeded through her awareness and every bone in her body. She hadn't had one of these attacks for years, not since she'd discovered the distracting power of work. She'd willed her mind blank by recalling claim numbers and company protocols, until the adrenaline exhausted itself and she fell asleep. More like passed out. The six cups of coffee weren't doing anything to ease her anxiety now.

Work. Back to work. A faithful companion and refuge. Despite her decision to allow the darkest truths of her life into the open air, work was something that could still offer shelter. Even if that shelter was inevitably temporary and fragile.

When she'd first run away from her father's home, work had been the only thing that kept her sane. She'd been all set to enter apprenticeship and become a plant engineer. Just like Dad. Of course that was before, and having left school, there had been no question of that remaining an option. Dad made sure her choices were limited.

She'd finally found herself in December, pleading her case to the human resources agent at Bernardelli. She'd been firm, even arrogant. "If you do not hire me today, I promise that it will be the single biggest mistake of your career."

And so, whether out of pity, humor, or admiration, the agent had given her a job as the assistant to the secretary of a secretary. Forget about the bottom rung, this was the dirt under the ladder. But it was all the opportunity a seventeen-year old Meryl Stryfe had needed.

She worked overtime, overnights, weekends, holidays. She did whatever she was asked and more, without additional pay or bonuses, without complaint. And Meryl, in turn, was grateful for her workload, a number of tasks that could provide distraction at any given moment. She thought about work in the shower, while making dinner, while trying to fall asleep at night. Anything to keep from thinking about... that.

It hadn't been long before she was recommended for a promotion. And when the opportunity for fieldwork presented itself, she'd jumped at the chance. The company had a hard time finding agents willing to head off into the Outer, but Meryl loved it. Any reason to run, to escape into the anonymous void. Everyday another town, another set of faces that would soon forget hers.

She never slowed her pace. And if her assistants couldn't keep up? Well, too bad for them. They obviously had no business anywhere but behind a nice comfy desk. She'd about given up on the idea of a partner before they sent her Millie. That poor girl should have run for her life after their first introduction. Why Millie had agreed to go anywhere with her after she'd received such an icy preamble, Meryl would never know.

It was because of Millie that she'd started to feel less lonely. But of course, that meant she'd had to admit how alone she'd felt before. Despite the cost, it was nice to have a friend. Even if she did keep Millie at arm's length. Meryl could admit that now. It seemed that admissions were a bit of a chain reaction. Now that she'd started, she was afraid she wouldn't be able to stop.

_Stupid bastard, this is all your fault! _Goddamn, broom-headed, bane of her existence! If only that jerk had turned out to be the cruel, womanizing, city-destroying outlaw he was supposed to be, she thought with a sigh. Why did he have to be so damn cute, and make her laugh so much? She missed the days when he never used her real name, when he never would have asked her to dance or reached for her hand, threatened to kiss her in the dark. Yep, those were the good ol' days. _Liar._

She rapped her fingers in impatient succession on the surface of the desk. What was it about Vash that affected every nerve in her body? For better or worse, she couldn't be sure. Last night, when the last of her tears were cried, she'd told Millie she wasn't sure if she was ready for this, to go through this.

"You'll never be ready," Millie had answered, her eyes steady and sure. "You'll just go through it and that will make you ready."

Meryl had been running, and blaming it on her job, for a long time. And if she accepted Millie's advice, it was time to stop. Thus, the report she was about to write. In seven years she'd never been anything but completely honest in every report she'd sent home to Bernardelli. But, she was about to tell a lie, and a whopper at that. She was going to report that Vash the Stampede was dead.

Killed by an unknown assailant, and buried in the desert, the Humanoid Typhoon would no longer pose a threat to the inhabitants of Gunsmoke, nor the constituents of the Bernardelli Insurance Society. Considering the weight of this news, and the considerable effort expended on the pursuit of their charge, Meryl Stryfe and Millie Thompson would announce their permanent leave of absence.

This, of course, would mean the end of work. Beautiful, mind-numbing work. And Meryl would no longer be able to pretend that she followed Vash because she was employed to do so. She did it because anything that didn't involve her being at his side felt inexcusably wrong. And, of course, it would give Vash the opportunity for a fresh start. If anyone deserved one, it was him. Yes, fresh starts all around.

"I can do this." She tried on a smile and set her fingers on the typewriter's keys once more. "I can do this. I can do this." _I can't do this._

Meryl pushed herself away from the desk with a growl. She didn't like this new honest-with-herself-and-those-around-her Meryl. She was a frazzled mess who drank too much coffee and talked to herself. Funny, how being honest required her to tell such an enormous lie.

_What the...?_

Suddenly she was on her feet, her legs moving and not through her direction. She could feel the panic rising in her gut, her confusion acute. Her mind was a tornado of plausible explanations. Until she saw where her feet had brought her, and as her hand turned the doorknob, she knew.

While Knives had been asleep, she'd marveled at just how closely he resembled Vash, complete with the little beauty mark beneath one eye. Like some beautiful mirror image. Now that he was conscious, she could see how wrong she'd been. The man who appraised her with disdainful eyes, was nothing like his brother. The features were all there, but they were twisted by disgust and malice. Familiar brows and cheekbones framed eyes that inspired as much warmth as a viper poised to strike. "Bring me water and something to eat. I'll need traveling supplies and a reliable vehicle. I expect us to leave within the hour." He turned his face to the ceiling and closed his eyes.

Her throat was tight, and dry as sand, but she found her voice, "Vash..."

"Is gone and won't be back," he interrupted. "At least, not in time to be of any use in your current situation."

She opened her mouth again, but he stopped her. "My directions do not require you to speak. Perhaps we should get something clear between us: The length of your life is dependent upon two factors: How useful you remain, and how little you annoy me. Should the other woman return before we leave I will not hesitate to kill her. Either way," he sighed and coughed weakly, "I honestly don't give a fuck."

Meryl's panicked brain was racing. What the hell could she do? Could he really force her to leave with him? She couldn't let Millie get hurt, but maybe she could leave her a note, or... _"Idiot," _Knives' voice suddenly echoed in her head, _"I could kill you where you stand without lifting a finger. You are still alive because I believe you may be a useful tool." _His eyes opened and turned back on her. _"Was I wrong in this assumption?"_

She was sure that Knives had not taken control of her tongue, and yet it remained stubbornly glued to the roof of her mouth. Perhaps this had something to do with the fact that she'd never been so frightened. Knives grinned in malicious pleasure at the terror he'd inspired. "Good. Then you understand."

He closed his eyes again, signaling that the conversation had reached its conclusion. She felt his control loosen on her legs and they nearly collapsed beneath her. Only the overwhelming instinct to get as far away from him as possible kept her standing. She groped blindly for the doorknob and soon found herself in the hall outside, heart racing.

How could he be awake? Vash promised. And where the hell did he expect them to go? Meryl didn't think he'd be able to even make it down the stairs in his current condition. But, weakened or not, he was dangerous. With Vash days out, the best thing she could do was get Knives as far away from other people as possible. At least then the only one he could hurt would be her. A chill wrapped itself around her spine at the thought. No, she had to stay hopeful. Vash would come for her, and this nightmare would be over. She just had to keep herself alive until then. And staying alive meant doing what Knives asked. She straightened her back and gave her head a small, dignified shake. Jaw set, eyes sharp, she headed for the kitchen.

* * *

The preacher man's uneasiness was a powerful contagion. It hadn't been long after their reunion that Vash had begun to doubt the wisdom of leaving Knives alone with the girls. He tried to reason that they were more than capable of watching out for themselves, and that Knives was deeply and helplessly unconscious. These arguments were becoming less and less convincing however, and by the time Wolfwood had liberated a jeep (he'd argued that no one in Carcasses would be missing it), Vash's anxiousness to be home no longer centered around finding out how badly Meryl had missed him while he was gone. 

"Forget the guns, Wolfwood. I think we should go straight home."

"Nice to see that you've come to your senses, Tongari," Wolfwood had replied. "However, I'm not getting within fifteen iles of your brother without a weapon."

And so, they found themselves returning from the desert with one over-sized and hastily wrapped cross, two colts, and one red duster (minus the right sleeve). Even with the pit stop, the ride home was considerably shorter, and they pulled up to the little house early the next morning.

"You should wait here, Wolfwood," Vash said as they neared the porch. "I have to, um, prepare them."

"You didn't tell them you were coming back with me!?" Wolfwood had that look on his face that meant he was trying to remember he was a priest, and would therefore be out of line if he shot his friend.

"I wasn't sure I _was_ coming back with you. I couldn't tell them. If it hadn't worked, it would be like killing you all over again."

Vash left his friend to pace the sand that served as a front yard. He supposed it would be wise to tell the girls about Wolfwood's resurrection before the ill-tempered priest ran out of cigarettes. But what exactly was he going to say? "_Hey, remember when I told you that Wolfwood was dead? Yeah, well, that wasn't entirely, strictly the truth."_ Or maybe, _"Hey Meryl, you know how you're always saying what an idiot I am? Well, turns out I'm a liar to boot! Oh and, sorry, tall girl! Didn't mean to cause you all that grief."_

He willed the air to enter his lungs in a steady breath. "Hey, girls? You home?" He rapped gently on the door frame. "I've got to talk to you."

He only had one foot in the kitchen before Millie collided with his chest. "Oh Mr. Vash! I've been so scared! I didn't know what to do! I got home and Sempai was gone and so was Mr. Knives and there wasn't a note or anything and I don't know where they've gone or...!"

Vash gripped her shoulders and pushed her far enough away that he could see her face. "Millie, slow down! What are you...?" One look at her drawn and troubled expression set off the avalanche of dread that had been pushing at the surface of his mind. He released her, sending her spinning as he raced up the stairs. "Meryl!? Knives!" He found both bedrooms empty. _Shit shit shit shit shit!_

Wolfwood heard Vash's panicked voice and started for the porch, only to be met by the frantic blond as he stormed through the front door. "Vash! Whoa, what's going on?" He placed himself in Vash's path, blocking his way.

"Move!" Vash attempted to sidestep the preacher, but found himself blocked once more.

"I asked you a question, dammit!" A small, stifled cry of surprise turned Wolfwood's attention back to the front door. Millie had followed Vash outside, and from the look on her face, it was clear that he hadn't had a chance to tell her the good news. Her eyes were like dinner plates, fixed and afraid to blink. He felt suddenly awkward, the raging gunman temporarily forgotten. He hastily pulled off his sunglasses and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Um." He raised his hand, and the corners of his mouth, in what he hoped was a friendly greeting. "Hi, honey."

Millie made another small, sharp sound and collapsed her weight against the railing she was leaning on. He took the space between them in a few short strides, gripping her arm to keep her from falling. "Easy. You okay?"

At the feel of his hand on her arm, Millie was suddenly upon him, clutching his arms and pulling him to the ground where she sat. Her hands moved in rapid succession over his face, his chest, his hands, as if testing their solidness, the corporeal reality of the man in front of her. Soon she was crying and laughing all at once, pulling him into her arms. He held her as close as he could, practically dragging her into his lap, one hand tangled in the hair at the back of her head, the other desperately gripping her shoulder. "I thought you were dead," she gasped.

"So did I," he answered against her neck. "It's okay, though," he quickly added, pulling away to look at her face. "I'll explain everything, okay?"

She turned her face into the hand he held against her cheek and nodded. Vash reappeared through the front door. Apparently he had rethought his hasty and immediate departure, and had gone back inside for a few supplies. Millie and Wolfwood had failed to notice.

Wolfwood was quickly back on his feet and caught Vash's shoulder as he passed. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Knives has Meryl. I'm going after them." He violently shrugged his shoulder, dislodging Wolfwood's grip.

"Dammit, Spikey! What the fuck did I tell you!?" He retrieved his cross from where he'd dropped it in the sand.

"Thank you. I'm well aware of the consequences of my actions," he said with a pained, tight expression. "Stay here with Millie."

"Like hell!"

Vash spun on him with a growl, raising his gun. "I said stay here!" Wolfwood didn't back down. Vash contemplated the priest's resolute expression and determined posture. It would be tricky, if not impossible to convince him to stay behind.

Wolfwood laughed. "What are you going to do, needle noggin? You going to shoot me?"

A shadow of a smile blew across Vash's lips right before the gun went off. The bullet took Wolfwood cleanly in the shoulder, knocking him backward to the ground. "SHIT!" Wolfwood covered the wound with his hand, trying to sit up. "That _really_ hurt!"

"Sorry, buddy. It's the only way I could be sure you wouldn't follow me."

"Sometimes I truly hate you, Tongari."

"Don't whine, you'll be fine in a few days. Jeez, you'd think you'd never been shot before." He offered his friend an apologetic smile.

Millie seemed to wake from her stupor by the porch and charged Vash with a raised fist. He caught her hand before it could connect with his face. "I'll never forgive you, Mr. Vash! I can't believe you! That was a terrible thing to do!"

If she hadn't known Vash so well, Millie might have described his expression as cold. But as it was, she could see how heartbroken and pained his eyes were, and for a moment she regretted what she'd said. "I'm sorry, Millie, but I can't put anyone else in danger. It's bad enough that Meryl's in trouble because of me. I'll bring her back though, okay? You just take care of Wolfwood. The wound's not that bad, I promise." He smiled reassuringly and vaulted back into the jeep, tossing his bag in the back.

Millie crouched down to where Wolfwood lay in the sand, angrily watching Vash's departing taillights. "That idiot just has no goddamn sense," he gritted as Millie helped him to his feet. "I have to go after him before I lose the trail."

"You're not going anywhere right now. Besides, I figured that Mr. Vash was going to try and take off without me, so I grabbed a tracker before I followed him outside. The chief at Bernardelli gave it to me a long time ago, so I wouldn't screw up like I usually do, and I slipped it in Mr. Vash's pocket before when I took a swing at him."

Wolfwood smiled broadly. "You really are amazing."

She returned the smile. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine. It's just a flesh wound. Anyway, joke's on him." He gestured to the bloodied, black cloth sticking to his skin. "This is his shirt."

* * *

Knives had had a hell of a time getting down the stairs and into the pickup. Even getting out of the bed had been a struggle. He'd been forced to accept the assistance of his brother's pet human. Thankfully, the diminutive creature had proven to be surprisingly strong. Even with part of his weight distributed on her small frame, it had taken all the strength Knives had to put one foot in front of the other. He'd gritted his teeth, feeling his wounds reopen, the unmistakable pain of tearing flesh. They'd driven all yesterday and through the night. Now, he was barely able to keep his eyes open. He was feverish, he knew. The suns had risen, and were gaining height in the sky, yet he shivered. His thoughts were a muddled mess in his skull. 

"_Knives!"_

He felt the very moment that Vash discovered the empty bedrooms. He heard his voice, barely able to knock it away. Knives hadn't been expecting Vash to reach out with such force, and he'd simply been too weak to deny his brother access to his mind. _You mean, I've spent the better part of the last century trying to get him to embrace what he is, and he finally makes a show of power because I threaten this insect? _He was still a good distance away, however. Knives would have at least a full day and night before Vash managed to catch up. The ghost of his twin's fear and rage stayed with him, even as he forced the connection shut with the last of his remaining energy. _You blame yourself for my transgressions, dear brother? How very like you._

"Knives, are you okay?" The woman's voice sounded like it was underwater. He felt the truck slow. When they stopped, she placed a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."

He knocked her hand away, but the motion rolled his stomach. He opened the truck's door and retched in the sand. The woman's small hand was on his back, moving in slow circles that he supposed were meant to be comforting. He spit the remaining bile from his mouth. "Don't touch me," he managed to grind out.

"Here." She continued as if she hadn't heard him, helping him to sit back in the seat, and lifting a canteen to his lips. He snatched the container away, and was disappointed that the gesture didn't have much force behind it. She turned in her seat and reached behind her for the first aid kit she'd tucked away. Soon she'd retrieved as small towel and took the canteen wordlessly from his hand. She poured a little of the water on the towel and laid it over his forehead. "With your window down, the air will cool the rag and help with the fever. You should take some aspirin too."

He laughed, too exhausted to resist her ministrations. "Concerned about me? You know, I think I was about to pass out. It would have been easy enough to kill me."

Her brow furrowed as she frowned. "I wouldn't do that. Not even to you."

That made him smile. "Even if it means your own life, fool? Or do you think me like Saint Vash?"

"I've no illusions about your intentions, Knives. You are _nothing_ like Vash."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't meant as a compliment." She had crossed her arms and was looking particularly defiant. It had to be the fever, Knives reasoned, but for some reason it made him want to laugh rather than cut her throat. "What are you laughing at?" she demanded.

A fresh round of chuckles shook his shoulders. He turned away from her and spoke into the air. "Oh, dear Vash! Of course you took a pet. You always were fond of animals."

This seemed to make the human more cross. "Do you hate him so much?"

The question instantly quieted his laughter. He turned his eyes on the woman, his gaze weakening her defiant posture into something more frightened and unsure. "Watch what you say, you vile parasite." He grabbed her arm and dug his fingers into her flesh until he was sure that it hurt. The next words he spoke were low and dark, the hand that held her trembled with rage. "I suppose you believe that you love him? You cannot even _begin_ to comprehend what that means. Vash is the _only_ thing on this wretched ball of sand that I have _ever _loved. _Everything _that I have done has been solely for his benefit. How dare you question me?" He released her arm and collapsed back on the seat. "Drive," he directed.

Without another word she turned to the steering wheel and put the pickup back in drive. He watched her for a moment longer, noting that tears had formed in her eyes and she was swallowing hard, but she did not cry. He retrieved the wet cloth from the seat where it had dropped when he'd assaulted her. With a sigh he placed it back on his forehead and closed his eyes.

They drove for another hour in silence. Knives attempted to gather his thoughts. He had to admit that the wet cloth and aspirin did seem to be helping. In about twenty minutes they were going to reach their destination, and Knives had to flesh out his plan. So far he'd completed phase one: Run. There were plenty of one-plant settlements in this area that he'd already driven the human inhabitants from. Most of his sisters in this region had been drained to the brink of death. At least he'd been able to save most of them. They were recuperating peacefully in their empty towns. But the second part of Knives' plan (and the limit of what he'd come up with so far) was to heal. He'd need a plant that was strong enough to offer some of her energy, and he knew of at least one that fit the bill.

Once they arrived however, he didn't know what he was going to do with the girl. It would be simple enough to end her miserable existence, but that would do little to serve his greater goal. He had been so certain, when he'd hunted down the last survivor of Rem's bloodline, that it would be enough to sever her hold on Vash. That particular course of action hadn't worked out as well as he'd hoped. In fact, it had been a disaster. Both he and his brother had nearly been killed. Vash would never forgive him if he slayed this pet of his now. And that would be something he could live with, if only he wasn't so sure he'd be creating another martyr to Vash's cause. No, if this woman died at the hand of a plant, it would only strengthen little brother's resolve.

He could give her back. As loathsome as the thought of allowing this abomination to continue defiling his twin was, surely it would only be a matter of time before the creature betrayed Vash. He could feel that she was frightened of Knives, and not just because of what he'd done, but of what he was. A plant. The same as Vash. Which meant she feared his twin's true nature as well. She was deluding herself, believing that she was in love with him. It couldn't last. Vash might be good at playing human, but it wasn't what he was. Once she figured that out, she'd break his heart. _You'll never get close to them, Vash. They'll eat you alive if you keep trying. _Just another lesson Vash would have to learn the hard way. And when he did, Knives would be there to clean up the mess.

Soon, they arrived. The woman drove the truck to the plant, just as he'd directed. He tried his legs and found that they weren't capable of holding his weight. If he didn't accept assistance from the human he'd be crawling inside. "Help me," he ordered with as much dignity as possible.

She tucked her shoulders under his arm without complaint, wrapping a small arm around his waist. His feet all but dragged along the ground as she hefted his cumbersome weight towards the bulb. He slumped to the ground, laying his forehead on the bulb's surface, breathing hard with the exertion. _"Sister..."_ he called out silently.

When he reached her, he was startled to find the plant was enraged. She rushed out from the center of the bulb and slammed her fist against the glass. Her pupil-less eyes were furious and dark, glowering with frightening intent at Knives. His brows creased in silent confusion and hurt. _"I don't understand. Why...?"_

"_You!"_ The plant seethed. She flooded his mind with images, her memories.

_He was inside the bulb, a mother and child on the other side of the glass. "She's pretty isn't she?" the mother asked._

_The child's small, pudgy hands were pressed against the invisible divider. He stared with wide, curious eyes. "Why is she in there?"_

_The mother smiled, her hands resting gently on the little boy's shoulders. "She's working. It's thanks to her that you and mama and papa can live. She makes our meals, as well as many other things. Let's say thank you together."_

_The two forms bowed respectfully. "Thank you. Very much."_

_The child looked up again and pointed with an excited finger. An animated smile lit his small face. "Mama, look! She smiled!"_

Knives felt tears prick his eyes as the vision faded. He'd felt her emotions as if they were his own, the devotion, pride, even love. He met the furious gaze of his sister, and felt his heart ache with distress and confusion._ "You... you're angry with me?"_

"_You hurt them! You sent them away!"_ she accused.

"_They were hurting you, sister," _he reasoned. _"I had to make them stop."_

"_NO!!"_ Her fist beat angrily against the glass dividing them once more, and Knives winced.

"_Please, I need your help. I'm hurt. I'm sick."_ He pressed his palms against the surface of the bulb, and silently pleaded. He felt the plant's awareness drifting hastily over his body, taking inventory of his injuries. _"Please, my sister." _

Her expression softened slightly. The anger melted, leaving only a deep sadness behind. She was going to help him. He could already feel her energy gently beckoning him, her hands on the glass had begun the transmutation.

"What's going on?" Vash's pet spoke. He'd almost forgotten she was there.

He didn't spare her a glance. His energy was focused on the seemingly solid surface of the bulb. "It's none of your concern. Go. Do whatever you like."

Before Meryl's eyes, the glass between the hands of the two plants rippled and shifted, becoming less substantial until their fingers intertwined. Knives closed his eyes as the plant angel drew him into the bulb, the glass reforming behind him.

* * *

As heartbreakingly beautiful as his time in 'heaven' had been, Wolfwood had to admit that being alive had its advantages. When Vash had first pulled him from the bulb, he'd felt a strange sadness, even a sense of loss. Reuniting with Millie had made him feel more than he had thought himself capable. Still, he initially felt odd. They'd just had that one night together, and his death had been one hell of a morning-after. He just wasn't sure what to say to her. 

Of course, Millie had none of the same qualms or insecurities. It was like he'd always been there, that they'd never been apart. Her comfortable presence had soon set him at ease. He found himself falling into place like a formerly lost puzzle piece. It was just so damned natural. Him. Her.

She'd helped him bandage the new hole in his shoulder, and asked him if he wanted eggs. Yes, please, scrambled and dry. Tabasco? Why, it's like you can read my mind. He'd been eager to set off after Vash. The gunshot wasn't bad, and had stopped bleeding, after all. But Millie had suggested that he might want a bath first. And noting that the plant juice, or whatever it was he'd been covered in, had dried stiff and sticky, making his skin tight and hair crunchy, he'd been obliged to agree. Might as well rinse off the residue of rebirth before racing off to meet his death once more.

And so, he found himself in a large metal tub. The bathwater was pleasantly cool against the heat of the day, he had just lit a fresh smoke, and he was drinking a glass of water with, honest to God, ice in it. Living couldn't be sweeter.

"Hey," Millie pushed the door open. She carried a bucket, and was wrapped in an over-sized robe that made her shoulders seem narrow in comparison. "How's the water?"

She emptied the bucket of fresh water into the tub, and he felt suddenly shy, which was ridiculous considering, but still... "Uh, water's great." He was pleased that his voice sounded even and casual. "What are you do...?"

The words trailed off into silence as she untied the robe and let it slip to the floor. Had she always been this bold? Yes... and no, he remembered. He'd made the first move, but she'd never hesitated. Never regretted or played coy. He realized he was staring. Despite the ice water, his mouth felt very dry. She quirked an eyebrow at him and grinned. "It would be a waste to use all that water for just one person's bath, don't you think?"

"Didn't you..." he groped for something coherent, "didn't you just tell me that you hit water at the well?"

"Of course!" She slapped her forehead in mock-realization, picking her robe up off the floor. "I completely forgot. You're totally right. I'll just come back when you're done. Bye now, have fun!"

She made as if she were going to leave and he stretched an arm over the side of the tub, catching her wrist. "Oh no, you don't!" She laughed and screamed as he pulled her into the water, sending waves crashing to the bathroom floor.

"Nicholas! You're making a mess!" she protested.

"You made me soak my cigarette." He flicked the extinguished and soggy roll of paper across the room.

"Good." She settled herself against his chest, carefully avoiding the injured shoulder. "You're mopping this up later, _dear._"

His laughter rumbled against her back. "Of course, _honey_." She laid her head back, offering her mouth for a kiss, which he gratefully accepted. Anything this woman offered him was more than he deserved, but he wasn't about to turn that much goodness away, deserving or not.

She rolled over, the water taking some of her weight. She interlocked her fingers behind his neck, her expression turning serious, as she looked into his face. "You can't ever die again, okay? I don't think I could... do it twice. Lose you, I mean."

For a moment, he had a glimpse of her grief, and wondered how anyone could mourn him so deeply. Poor Millie, she had terrible taste in men. In fact, Meryl was probably the only woman alive with worse. "I'm so sorry." He pushed a wet tendril of hair off her cheek. "I should have been more careful. I _will_ be more careful. From now on."

She smiled, any hint of sorrow dissolving like a soap bubble. "Good! Then you won't have any objection to me coming with you after Mr. Vash."

"What?" His brows knit together. "That's not what I..."

She pulled away from him and crossed her arms. "Meryl is my best friend. If any rescuing is going to happen, I'm going to be involved. And someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed, and Mr. Vash has all ready proven inadequate at that particular task."

"Millie..."

"Don't even try it." She swatted his hand away as he reached for her. "It's my tracking device, and I'm going, and you should be glad I'm letting you come!"

"Fine! Okay, you win! Just come here, alright?" She smiled triumphantly and settled back against him. Wolfwood scowled. "And for the record! It is _absolutely_ against the rules to try and get your way when either of us is naked, but especially you!"

She sighed and ran her fingers in lazy trails along his arm, the bath water beading and falling from her fingertips. "And why is that, dear?"

"Because, _honey_," he gritted, partly in frustration, and partly because he was stifling a groan at the gentle circles her fingers were tracing on his shoulder, "it's distracting."

She laughed, a deceptively girlish sort of giggle, and curled her hand in the damp hair at the nape of his neck. Her lips were nearly as soft as the legs that grazed his. Yeah, forget heaven: living couldn't be sweeter.

* * *

When Meryl had first spotted Vash, on that morning when water had burst forth from the ground, showering her with the closest thing to rain she would ever see, she'd been so overwhelmed at the living, breathing sight of him, that she'd nearly broken an ankle in her anxiousness to close the space between them. She probably wouldn't have been able to stop herself from leaping into his arms, except for the fact that she'd realized he was holding something. Scratch that, holding _someone_. 

In the days following, Vash had done a lot of explaining. You can't just spring the kind of stuff he had (not human, genocidal brother, over a hundred years old) on a girl, run out, and not expect to have a lot of clarifying to do. To his credit, he'd shared the information easily. She'd asked why he never told her before.

"Didn't want to get you involved, but it's a little late for that now," he'd answered. While she didn't think he was _lying_, per se, she suspected that his secrecy hadn't just been for her protection. It had been for his, too.

"You could have told me, Vash. I would have understood."

He'd smiled, one of those rare ones, the one that reminded her of how children smile in their sleep. "I know that now. I just didn't... before."

And so, he'd told her: his childhood with Knives, how Rem had meant to keep them hidden, to take them into cold sleep with her until the ships found their new home. He'd even told her about Tessla, how Knives had changed, and the Fall had occurred.

It was a lot to take in. She was still having trouble with the part where Vash wasn't a human being. She'd grown up the daughter of a plant engineer. She could remember looking into the bulb as a child, seeking out its inner form with eager eyes. She'd thought that the plant angel was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Maybe even more beautiful than Mom's face in the pictures she had of her. Her child's mind had thought that the angels the minister talked about in church, and the angel behind the glass were the same thing, and wondered how one could have gotten so far away from heaven. Trying to accept that the ethereal creature of her earliest memories, and Vash, were in fact the same species, was proving to be a bigger stretch than her mind wanted to truly accept. Having just seen Knives swallowed up into a bulb was, however, helping this reality settle in.

Knives hadn't killed her. In fact, he was letting her go. So, why wasn't she running for her life, putting as much distance as possible between herself and the greatest danger ever known to mankind?

Simple answer? It didn't feel like the right thing to do.

The last night she'd spent with Vash, that crazy night with the whiskey and the fireworks, after they'd both made a terrible mess of things, he'd finally gotten her back home in one piece. "Well, goodnight, Vash," she'd said. They were just inside the house.

"Hey, can you wait here for a second? There's something I want to show you."

"Now?" It was late. She was exhausted.

"Yeah, just wait here. I really want to show it to you." His eyes had taken on that big, childish look. Meryl was sure that the expression caused a chemical reaction in its viewer that made the utterance of the word 'no' physically impossible.

"Yeah, okay," she'd relented. With a smile that was in and of itself reward for agreeing to whatever he asked, Vash had gone upstairs and returned with something in his hand. He'd undone a carefully wrapped, soft piece of cloth, revealing what looked like a photograph. "This is really old, so be careful."

He'd gingerly handed her a Polaroid. She'd recognized the format, her grandfather had kept a lot of old pictures that were like this. The photograph Vash had given her was well cared for, but he'd been a wanderer for a long time, taking his few possessions everywhere he went. The corners had looked a bit chewed and worn, but the colors were still bright. Meryl had gaped at the image. Two little boys stared back at her from the frame. They couldn't have been older than five or six, obviously twins. They looked into the lens of the camera with large eyes, deep pools of blue and turquoise. Their little bow mouths smiled sweet and unguarded.

Vash had looked over her shoulder at the picture. "Weird, right?"

"No, I mean, kind of, but... oh my God. Vash. You're the most beautiful child I've ever seen."

He'd rested his chin on her shoulder and pointed to the little boys. "That's me. And that, is Knives."

The child he'd pointed to stood slightly behind his brother, as if comforted and protected by his presence. Vash had spoken softly, "He was the sweetest kid, Meryl. Kinder and more generous than I was. He used to drag me into the cold sleep chamber nearly everyday. He'd make up stories about the people asleep there, what their lives had been like, and what they'd do when we got wherever we were going. I think... I think that's why it was so hard for him when we found out what had happened to Tessla. It was like he'd given his whole heart to humanity." His eyes had been wet as he took the photograph from her hand. "He wanted their acceptance more than anything."

It was difficult to correlate the gentle child Vash had described with the plant who'd just stepped into the bulb. Knives was cruel, brutal, and so angry. Meryl had never met anyone whose entire being screamed out with such rage. But she believed in Vash, and it was what he'd told her after he'd put the picture away that kept her from running now.

"I tried to kill him once." Vash hadn't been able to look her in the eye as he confessed, his voice thick with tears. "Just after the Great Fall. I was going to bash his head in with a rock while he slept. But even... even knowing what he'd done, I couldn't. I couldn't do it, Meryl. I know, with everything he's done, all the people he's hurt or killed, that it must sound so stupid. But... it's not who he is! I know it's not."

Meryl hadn't known what to say. Impulsively, she'd wrapped her arms around him. She hadn't been able to find a comforting word, but she could hold him. And that's what she did while he cried his shame out on her shoulder.

Vash would never be all right until Knives was taken care of. He'd never have a fresh start, he'd never have a chance to be happy. If she walked away now, and Knives took off again, Vash wouldn't be able to rest until he saw this to its end. And God forbid, if Knives hurt anyone, Vash would never forgive himself for allowing it to happen. Logically, she knew there was nothing she could do to stop Knives. It was likely that he'd kill her the first chance he got. Still, she felt she had to be there. Giving up on Knives was like giving up on Vash, and she just couldn't bring herself to do that.

So, she waited. She was tired and hungry and thirsty. When Knives had forced her out of the house, she hadn't had time to change into proper traveling clothes. She was still wearing the tank top and thin cotton pants she'd had on when he'd first seized control of her muscles and forced her to his room. Driving through open desert under the suns had given her a terrible burn, and as the sky grew darker, she found herself shivering. She slept fitfully in the truck, and stood watch by the plant bulb for half of the next day. Finally, Knives emerged.

His clothing was gone and he was soaked in a liquid that looked thicker than water. It seemed to take a few moments for him to recognize his surroundings. Eventually, his eyes found their way to where she was now standing. His gaze fixed on her and his features grew dark. As she winced beneath eyes that made her flesh want to crawl away from her bones, Meryl was afraid she'd made a terrible mistake. He stalked toward her, fists clenched, voice an angry bark. "Why the hell are you still here?!"

* * *

**...to be continued...**

* * *

"_Now review, spiders!"_ Quiet, Knives... sheesh! They'll review if want to. "_They'll do it if they know what's good for them." _Seriously, dude. Don't you have a species to eradicate or something? Give it a rest. 


	5. And Worse I May Be Yet

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas: **Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content: all the great dirty pleasures of life  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary: **Last time: Knives and Meryl had a nice little chat. And by "nice little chat" I mean he took her hostage and ran off into the desert. Vash tried to think of the best way to let the girls know Wolfwood was alive, but was spared that awkwardness when he realized his nutjob brother had made off with his chick. Then Vash shot Wolfwood. Damn. Wolfwood didn't mind so much because the only thing ruined was the shirt Vash had let him borrow. Millie was clever enough to plant that tracker the Chief gave her on Vash. And this time it didn't end up with Kuroneko-sama. Millie shared a bath with her favorite priest (strictly in the interest of water conservation, of course), much to the squee-ful glee of the reading audience. We also learned that bargaining while naked is effective, if not underhanded. Meanwhile Meryl pissed Knives off by daring to _gasp!_ be nice to him. When we last left our heroine, she was in (shockingly) big trouble.

**A/N:** Sugar Pill and Alaena Night are alphas among betas. I'm erecting a shrine for them on the potato farm west of my sofa. Additionally, the title of this chapter is a quote from one of William Shakespeare's plays. Do you know which one? Ms. Night is making chili-cheese dogs as we speak.  
**2nd A/N: **Whoops-a-daisy! Accidentally posted an earlier draft of this chapter the first time around. oO It was missing a whole paragraph! Ugh! So, um, sorry about that. This is the correct (much better-er) version:

* * *

**Chapter 5: And Worse I May Be Yet**

* * *

Knives hadn't had enough time to heal properly, he knew, but he couldn't risk staying any longer. He didn't dare to seek out Vash's consciousness, lest his brother inadvertently glean anymore information than he already had. From what Knives had sensed earlier, however, he knew it wouldn't be long until Vash was upon him. 

His sister had refused to speak with him inside the bulb. She merely offered her energy, helping him to rebuild his damaged body. Her emotions, however, were pouring off of her in waves. And though he _knew_ that he'd done what was best for her, feeling how broken-hearted she was, and knowing he'd caused that pain, made him want to apologize. Luckily for Knives, he'd never had too much trouble converting an unwelcome emotion into the familiar burn of anger, guilt included.

By the time he was ready to leave the warm swell of the energy plant, Knives had been able to distract himself with thoughts of his next move. With any luck, Vash's human would intercept him in her escape. Maybe Vash would even sense her. From what Knives could tell, his brother was projecting like a madman. It wouldn't be too far off to imagine that he'd pick up on the distressed little insect as she fled. And that would give Knives even more of a head start.

Dammit. He'd let the girl go, which meant she'd taken the truck, and all the supplies packed inside it. He'd made her take a change of clothes for him before they'd flown that beaten-down shack, but he'd been so weak and overwhelmed before he entered the bulb, he'd completely forgotten to command her to leave them for him. Not that he had any particular problem with nudity, but traveling across the desert in the buff wasn't an option.

He coughed as he slid from the bulb to the ground outside, blinking rapidly as his eyes struggled to refocus. No matter. The settlement had been abandoned in a single evening. Surely there was a vehicle he could use, probably with the keys still hanging in the ignition. There were plenty of homes where he could find something to wear, and...

He had to be imagining things. His eyes were telling him that the dark-haired scrap of a human was standing not more than fifteen feel away. Surely this was a mistake, the result of a half-assed attempt at healing himself. Maybe the fever was back. But _no_! She was there. With the stupidest expression on her face. A combination of curiosity, fear, and... something almost... hopeful? She was wringing her hands uncertainly, her teeth tightening over her bottom lip.

Unbelievable! Rage bloomed in his chest, soaking his vision like blood through fresh linen. The world became a pinpoint where she stood. He was marginally aware of his shaking hands, the muscle above his eye that twitched as he approached her. "What the hell are you still doing here!?"

The girl tried to stand her ground, but her body betrayed her, shrinking away from him as he closed in. She watched him with large eyes. Knives distantly remembered a flower in the rec-room that had been that color, a thistle. Vash had liked it, liked the idea of something beautiful that one couldn't risk touching. Another man might have been softened by the look in those eyes, so very frightened and helpless. Knives, however, was _not_ a man; he was a plant. Her fear, her fragility, filled him with nothing but disgust and a predatory insistence to destroy.

"Answer me!" he roared. "Why are you here?"

"Because..." Her voice hitched and she tried again. "Because of Vash."

Her words were awkward, halted by the primal, instinctive whisper of _'danger! run!' _that, undoubtedly, clouded her mind. Still, he understood her meaning. Understood as he hazarded a glimpse at her mind. She actually thought, had the audacity to believe, that she was somehow important here. That something she did or did not do could have an effect on his brother. Could make a difference in the way things were going to play out between the twins.

"Stupid bitch!" He hit her, fist closed, and noted how satisfying it was. Normally, he would have simply sliced her to ribbons with his angel arm, almost a distant observer as the transformed fibre of his body did the work. This was different. Instinctive, personal. Her teeth scraped the skin from his knuckles when his fist slammed into her mouth; the pain of it was dull and sharp all at once. The bubble of adrenaline that burst within him as he felt her flesh give, and watched her topple heavily to the sand, was particularly rewarding.

"I don't think you understand your place in this." His voice was strangely calm, as if the act of striking her had blessed him with a new clarity, a clarity he was more than willing to share with her. "I can see how you'd be confused. I'm sure my brother led you to believe you were... special. He is, after all, very good at pretending. Do you know why?" He dispassionately regarded his bloody knuckles, as one might glance at a hangnail. "He believes his own lies. Even something as simple as you should have caught on by now. You know what he is, after all. Vash was alive for a hundred years before your parents rutted and grunted you into existence, and he will persist long after you could merely aspire to be some of the dust on his boots."

Meryl heard his words, even as the world swam and a thousand tiny lights flashed before her eyes. She struggled to draw breath, as the fall to the sand had knocked the air from her lungs. The air rattled at the back of her throat, her mouth filling with blood, and she was forced to cough and spit. She saw something odd in the splattered pattern of thick red. A tooth? Her tongue found an empty space in her gum, and she guessed that it must be hers.

She thought about what Knives was saying. How long would Vash live? Forever? There was a certain logic in Knives' words that she couldn't dispute, however much she longed to. How could she even begin to understand what it meant to live that long? It was a perspective beyond her reach. Surely there had been others, people like her who'd gotten close to Vash, only to die and be absorbed into the ever-widening gulf of Time. She wondered if he ever thought of them.

"Why do you think I let you go? Gratitude? Sympathy?" Knives crouched over her, his grin arrogant and predatory. "It's insulting to consider it. I gave you the opportunity to escape simply because you'll be more trouble dead than alive." Her eyes widened marginally in surprise, and he laughed unpleasantly. "As long as you are flesh and blood, you're no threat to me _or_ Vash. Do you know what would happen if I killed you? Vash would forget you. Of course you'd be a convenient reason for him to continue to resist me. I'm sure he'd turn you into a practical saint. But who you are, how you are?... the details would fade quickly enough. You understand now, parasite? He doesn't care about _you_; it's the _idea_ of you he finds so appealing... Did you really think otherwise?" He noted her expression with a disapproving click of his tongue. His voice was a cold, condescending purr, "Oh, you did. That's so pathetic, it's almost endearing."

Meryl laughed. The sound was strange, even to her own ears. She gave up on trying to push herself to her feet and instead rolled to her back. Facing the sky, every vital organ exposed as she let her hands fall to her sides, Meryl should have been frightened. This man could gut her with a casual flick of his wrist, somewhere she remembered that, but currently he appeared to her no more than a childish bully. His brow creased angrily over his eyes. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded.

She managed a scowl as disapproving as his own. "You think _I'm_ pathetic? Like I'm going to listen to someone who doesn't know the first thing about what it means to love somebody else. Everything you've done has been for him? _That _makes me laugh. Everything you've done has been for no one's benefit but your own. You obviously don't know shit about Vash. But I do. I know him very well. He _trusts_ me." She knew it was foolish to provoke him like this, but God help her, she didn't care. Knives thought he was an authority? That he could tell her that Vash didn't really care about her, and that she'd actually believe him?_ Self-important bastard! _A grin cracked the blood that had started to congeal on her split lip. "Jealous, Knives?"

In the past hundred years or so, there had been lots of things that pissed Knives off. He was comfortable with the feeling of anger, knew it inside and out. It could range from mild annoyance to full out ire, with plenty of undulations in between. There had only been two instances where the rage had been so profound, it actually frightened him. The first time he'd been leaning over a control panel, programming the new flight plan that would later be known as the Great Fall. The anger had been like a separate person, compelling him forward. He'd bitten through his thumbnail, the blood dripping on the controls, and hadn't even noticed. The second time had been when he'd witnessed the Last Run, and watched helplessly as the life of his sister was forcibly torn from her screaming body. In that moment, as he watched the dead plant sink to the bottom of the bulb, he'd remembered what Tessla had looked like. He had a vision of her floating form, her exposed innards, as clear as it had been that day. He might have passed out, reduced to the terrified child he'd been so long ago, except that the other person was back. The vengeful double that he hadn't felt since the Fall. By the time he'd realized what had happened, everyone was dead.

Knives felt that person now, felt him like a coiled spring in his gut.

A blade formed and slipped between his fingers before he'd thought to summon it. He didn't care that he'd decided not to kill her. He didn't think about the potential consequences of his actions. All he cared about was slicing off chunks of this creature, carving his rage into her very flesh.

"KNIVES!!" He had barely any warning, just a flicker of red in his periphery before the first bullet screamed past his ear. He could smell singed hair. Vash's warning shot had been close.

Damn. And Knives had thought he was pissed off.

Where the hell had he come from anyway? He should have sensed his approach, unless... That bastard was _shielding!_ When, exactly, had he learned to do that? Knives allowed the blade to retreat, and grabbed the girl by the throat. In a swift movement, he lifted her in the air, placing her body between Vash and himself.

Vash was practically crackling with power. He held his gun in a steady hand, his stance practiced and stable, but that arm... He was wearing that damned red coat he was so fond of, even though the right sleeve was entirely missing. The skin on his right arm crawled, feathers and little blades bursting at the surface only to be reabsorbed.

"Dammit, Vash! I thought I told you not to use your powers!" Knives extended his own energy, forcing Vash's angel arm back into dormancy. Just as he expected, the idiot hadn't even been aware he was using it. "Opening your gate like that, unchecked...!"

"I'll kill you, Knives! Don't think I won't!" Vash didn't even seem to notice what was, or was not, happening to his arm. His eyes were locked straight down the barrel of his gun, over the girl's shoulder, right between his brother's eyes. "Put. Her. Down."

Knives felt a new storm of outrage boil inside his skull. He would really do it. Vash would honestly kill him. Knives narrowed his gaze, fixing it on the colt he'd made for Vash. "Don't! Point that thing! At me! She'll be dead before you get the round off!" Vash's expression didn't change, but something flashed behind his eyes, and Knives knew he had him. He wouldn't risk his pet, and Knives could crush her windpipe whenever he wanted. There would be nothing Vash could do to stop him. "Good. Now that you're being reasonable, throw me the gun."

Vash hesitated, his eyes flashing to the girl suspended at the end of Knives' arm. When Knives had first lifted her off her feet, she'd clawed at his hand and forearm, drawing thin, jagged lines of blood. She'd been kicking too, for all the good it did her, with those short little legs. Now, her movements had slowed. Her legs hung straight, and her hands barely gripped at his wrist. Knives gave her a violent shake. "The gun, Vash!"

Vash's eyes turned back to his twin. The grip on his weapon loosened. Just before Vash threw the gun, Knives looked in his eyes, and knew what he was going to do. "No!" Knives yelled, even as the gun flew through the air, and Vash made a move for the girl. Knives caught the gun in his free hand, swinging the girl behind him as he brought the gun around. Vash had to have known he would be too slow.

Knives fired. The bullet caught his brother in the gut, not more than two paces away.

He took a step away from where Vash was doubled over. The hand Knives used to keep the colt trained on him was trembling slightly. Distantly, he was aware of the girl as she renewed her struggles to free herself. "Stupid!" He took a hard breath to try and ease the shaking in his arm. "Traitor! I know what you did Vash! I saw it in your mind! You used our sister to heal a human!" Knives felt his eyes get hot, his vision blurred and refocused as he blinked. He vaguely remembered what it was like to cry. "And you'd kill me? You'd kill yourself? For this!?" He shook the girl again. She was staring down at Vash, but her eyes were starting to lose their focus. "You are not my brother! Do you hear me, Vash? You are **not my brother**!!"

Vash was still kneeling, his head bowed as he curled his body over the gunshot. He didn't look at Knives, but made a small grunt of pain as he stretched his arms in front of him, and began to crawl. Knives' eyes widened. "What are you doing?" His voice was alarmed, choked, as he watched Vash move sluggishly toward him, a trail of blood in his wake. He wanted to take a step away from him. Wanted to move forward to help him. Wanted to tell him to stop, that he was hurting himself. But Knives couldn't do anything but watch, the colt still trained on his brother's head, the hand that held it now shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Vash was shaking too. He reached Knives, and wrapped his arms around his brother's ankle. With a shuddering breath he leaned the top of his head against Knives's shin.

"Please," Vash all but whimpered.

Knives looked down in horror. His brother was sobbing, pleading at his feet.

"Knives! Please... just don't. Please, Knives." His voice was disjointed, broken by sobs. His fingers tightening around Knives' leg, as his shoulders shook with the weight of his desperation.

"Shut up, Vash!" Knives still held the gun. He felt a revulsion, an overwhelming disgust that he could almost taste. He couldn't see Vash's face, just the back of his head. The hair at the nape of his neck was darker than the rest. Knives looked down the barrel of the gun at the shaking, begging, pathetic mess that used to be his brother, and all he could see was that patch of black hair.

_I did this._ The knowledge hit Knives abruptly, painfully. _I did this._ It had never before occurred to Knives to wonder how much his brother could take.

"I'm sorry, Meryl. I'm so sorry," Vash said fervently, although his voice was losing strength. Knives looked to the girl still dangling in his grasp. _Meryl?_ Could Vash really be broken so easily, so completely, by the death of this woman? He felt the warmth of Vash's blood as it flowed in pulses over his bare foot.

The shields Vash had erected earlier crashed down, and Knives found himself assaulted by his brother's emotions. It was like it had been when they were children: an open empathic channel with the volume at ten. Vash could have killed him with the first shot, Knives realized. He still wasn't willing to make any sacrifices, still wanted to save both. When Knives had used Meryl as a shield, and demanded the gun, Vash had known the outcome of the situation wasn't in his hands. It was in Knives' hands. He'd rushed to take hold of the girl, knowing that Knives would get to the gun first. He'd been hoping that for once, just once, Knives would prove him wrong and do the right thing. He'd hoped that he wouldn't pull the trigger.

Knives had never hated his brother more. _If I kill her now, it will be like he killed her. There will be nothing left of him._

Knives had always known he'd win in the end. The first time he'd been shot, when _Vash_ had shot him, with his _own gun_, he'd promised Vash's retreating silhouette that it was only a matter of time. One day Vash would come around to the truth. Now, he knew that Vash would never see things as he did. He'd never help him create his Eden. Knives could either destroy him, or...

He felt the girl's throat working under his hand. Knives turned to look at her. Her mouth was moving, trying to form words she didn't have enough air to speak. It looked like 'please'.

Knives took comfort in the renewed burst of anger as it chased away something that felt dangerously close to shame. Vash was bleeding at his feet, sacrificing himself for a chance at saving her, and she had the audacity to beg for her life? Worthless, predictable humans! Brazen, boldfaced mongrels, intent on insuring their survival at any cost!

Then he realized she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the gun he held to Vash's head. His eyes widened in surprise. _"What is it?"_ he asked her telepathically before he could stop himself.

Her vision was darkening at the edges. She struggled to hold onto consciousness. _"Please don't hurt Vash."_

She fell from his hand with a heavy thud. The black of her hair looked odd against skin that was nearly white. He wondered for a moment, if she was dead, before he noted the subtle rise and fall of her chest. She was merely unconscious.

Knives had never felt this out of control before. He felt as though his skeleton might tear its way through his skin, if his shaking didn't pulverize every bone in his body to dust first. He had to move, had to scream, had to... something! Vash was barely conscious, unaware even that Knives had spared his pet. He was getting weaker every second, with every heartbeat and every gush of blood, and _still_ his emotions thrummed in Knives' head like an exposed nerve.

"GAH!" Knives had meant to tell Vash to shut up, to stop screaming his pain up and down Knives' spine. Somehow, 'shut up' had become an inarticulate scream, as Knives brought the butt of the gun down on base of Vash's skull. With his brother truly and deeply unconscious, Knives was left with no one's thoughts but his own.

He found himself on his knees. He'd forgotten how difficult it was to catch one's breath when crying this hard. He held his breath, gritted his teeth, resisting each sob as it forced its way out of his throat. He shut his eyes tight, trying to trap the tears behind his eyelids. He fought, wrapped his arms around his sides, doubled over the way Vash had been. _I can't. I can't._

Dammit! He stood and screamed his frustration into the air, forcing the feeling from his body. He strung together a barely intelligible litany of swear words, and gave Vash a kick in the ribs for good measure. What the hell now?

He had to bandage the hole in Vash's gut before the bastard bled to death. And then pants. Pants would be good. And then... then they were getting the fuck out of here.

It didn't take long to fix Vash up enough to be able to move him. He stripped him of that stupid red jacket. Bullet-proof it was not, at least at close range. It was an ugly looking wound. _Nice shooting, _he told himself. _You didn't need that liver, did you Vash? _Even so, Vash's body was pushing the bullet out. And if he was healing himself, he'd eventually be all right. The gash on the back of his head was another matter. A scalp split so easily. Knives frowned at how much a head wound could bleed. Vash's hair was matted with it. At least Knives hadn't managed to crack his skull with the force of the blow; that was a check in the 'good things' category. Knives focused on the good, the things he could fix and manage. The rest, the growing column of decidedly 'bad' things, would have to wait until later. He couldn't do a damn thing about them now anyway.

Knives slipped an arm under his brother's knees, his other arm braced behind his back. He got his legs under Vash's weight and lifted him with a grunt. He stumbled slightly. "You're heavy!" he accused, though Vash was unconscious and unhearing, as if his brother was being intentionally cumbersome. "You're a pain in the ass! You know that, Vash? Do I weigh this much?" He wondered how an individual fueled almost entirely by donuts, had managed, with injuries of his own, to carry him out of the desert. Vash just really was that stubborn. And stupid.

Knives carefully settled Vash into the bed of the pickup. He rummaged through the jeep Vash had arrived in and gathered what supplies he could find. When everything was ready, he considered the girl. Meryl, huh? She was still out cold, though the color in her skin was returning. Knives wondered how something so seemingly insignificant as the life of one human, could complicate _everything_ so profoundly. She sure didn't look like much.

So what should he do with her?

It was very lucky for Meryl that both she and Vash were unconscious. Because if there had been _anyone_ around to witness his actions, Knives would _never_ have done what he did now. He grabbed a few meal replacement bars and one of the canteens and tossed them at her feet. Vash's red duster was still laying in the sand where Knives had dropped it. He retrieved it now and tossed it over the girl, careful not to touch her.

_There._ Now at least, he couldn't be accused of letting the elements kill her.


	6. Blood

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas: **Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-like-to-know  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content. **Attention readers: **This chapter is** particularly gruesome **out of the gate. In fact, Sugar Pill informed me that it made her lose her appetite for oreos, which I am assured is no easy feat. Please turn away if you are upset by **gore**.  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.  
**Summary: **Last time: Knives sucker punched a girl! Then he tried to tell her that she was nothing more than an insignificant speck of not-Vash's-type. But did our girl stand for that? Hell, no! Screw that noise; she told Knives where he could (as Nightheart put it:) shove his pretensions. At which point, Knives was fully prepared to chop up some Meryl Champuru (try it with some wasabi, it's great!). Enter Vash! Who made a valiant effort at kicking his brother's butt, but after taking a bullet to the gut, had to change his tactics slightly: he begged. What's a conflicted psychopath to do? Simple: Step 1- Make sure everyone's unconscious. Step 2- Remember that leaving food and water for your helpless ex-hostage doesn't necessarily mean that you care (especially, if no one is awake to see you do it). Step 3- Get the hell out of Dodge.  
**A/N:** This story is now past the 30,000 word mark! That deserves a 'woo' and also a 'hoo'. Hope you're all enjoying it. Thanks for sticking with me this far. Writing this story is a joy, but that joy is dwarfed by the even greater joy of hearing readers' reactions. THANK YOU!! You see that? All Caps, babies. That's how special you make me feel. Also, I love my betas. They are just so delicious that I can't properly describe them. Even though you all must tire of me trying.

* * *

**Chapter 6: Blood **

* * *

Vash touched her cheek, his fingertips wet with something thick and warm. Her eyes traveled down from his face to find his abdomen split open, coils of glossy, clouded insides falling into his lap. The sight of it, the smell, was more than she could understand. 

'_Eviscerated'-- _her mind supplied the word she'd always found odd and never had the occasion to use. She tried to scream but found she couldn't. Instead her hands flew to his stomach, trying to push the spilling organs back inside.

He looked down in surprise. He drew his blood-wet hand back from her face and blushed. "Oops."

He was sheepish, embarrassed, as if he'd spilled her coffee. As if his intestines weren't shiny and exposed, pushing past her oily, fumbling fingers. _No. Oh God, no._ Didn't he realize? Didn't he see he was dying?

Meryl was trembling. There was so much blood. So much. How could there be any left to color his cheeks? Her arms were slick with it to the elbow. He looked at her sadly, but he was still so calm. She had to make him understand before it was too late, but it was like she'd forgotten how to speak. Her mind found no words, her tongue was thick and drugged in her mouth. She stared into his eyes, willing him to recognize her distress.

"Forgive me?" he asked, his voice soft and unsure. How could he doubt her?

_Anything_, she meant to say, _Always_, but he kissed her first. A mouthful of blood spilled past his lips, flooding over her tongue, choking her, salty and warm.

Meryl woke gasping. It wasn't blood in her mouth. She'd vomited while unconscious and was now dragging the thick fluid into her lungs as she struggled to breathe. She gagged, coughing violently and retching again as a large pair of hands rolled her to her side.

She was wretchedly disoriented. Her mind worked to catch up, remembering what had last happened before she blacked out, and trying to match that information with what her senses were telling her now. She felt hands on her back, a man's hands from the size and strength underneath the gentle grip. She could smell Vash.

"Vash." She was glad to find that, while abused and rough, her voice still worked.

"Meryl? You okay?"

That wasn't Vash's voice. But she _knew_ that voice, all the same. She turned as quickly as her throbbing head would allow, and looked at its owner. Instantly her eyes filled with tears. "I'm dead?"

Wolfwood frowned before he realized what she must be thinking. God, he was thick. What the hell else was she going to think, coming to after being passed out for God-knows-how-long, and the first thing she sees is a dead man's face? _Ugh, where's Millie with that first aid kit?_

"No, not dead," he hurried to explain. "You're not dead. I'm not dead. No one is dead."

Meryl's brow creased against the headache, and more so the confusion. The blanket wrapped around her was actually Vash's duster. That must have been why she could smell him. "What about Vash?"

"Well, he might be dead," the priest considered honestly. At her look of abject horror, he amended, "but I doubt it."

"Oh, Meryl!" Millie dropped to her knees next to her friend. She noted her fearful expression and gently brushed the hair from Meryl's eyes. "It's okay. You're safe. How are you feeling?"

Meryl caught Millie's hand as her fingertips grazed her forehead. She clutched it in both of hers, pressing the skin against her cheek. She was still so terribly confused, but part of her recognized it was safe to let go. She allowed herself the luxury of tears, even though it was selfish. She didn't know what had happened to Vash. She didn't have time to spare on this indulgence, but the few quiet tears she cried now couldn't be helped. She could only keep so much frustration, anger, fear, and relief inside before it forced its way out.

Millie gently tucked Meryl beneath her arm. She was usually so tough, and well, _loud_, that Millie sometimes forgot how small she really was. Her shoulders were so narrow. The little hands that gripped Millie's shoulders were half the size of her own. "I'm so happy to see you, Millie," Meryl gratefully sighed.

With one last little squeeze, Meryl pulled away from the embrace. Millie recognized this as Meryl's way of letting her know that her display of vulnerability was over, and that they would never speak of this again. Meryl's eyes turned back to Wolfwood, as if she'd only just remembered it was strange for him to be there. "I don't understand. How are you...?"

"It's a very, very long story..."

"He got healed in the Carcasses plant bulb!" Millie chimed in.

"Apparently, not that long," Wolfwood sighed.

"Oh," Meryl responded lamely. Suddenly her head popped up as she realized, "You're what Vash was going to pick up!"

Wolfwood touched his nose. "Bingo."

"That jerk!" Meryl brought her hand to her mouth, a sharp pain cutting through it as she attempted to yell. _Why...?_ Oh that's right, she'd been punched in the face. Split lip. Missing tooth. Oh and, _really _bad swelling.

"Careful, Sempai!" Millie dampened a square of gauze with antiseptic and gently dabbed at the corner of Meryl's mouth. It came back red and brown with dried blood.

Meryl had never been in pain like this. Besides her mangled jaw, there was the pulsating pain that seemed to be originating in the center of her skull. She supposed that being choked to unconsciousness could have that effect on a brain. Then, there was the nausea, which wasn't helped by the fact that the inside of her mouth tasted like puke and old blood. Her throat was so sore that it practically screamed. She was sure there was a nice bruise in the shape of a hand across the front of it as well.

As the fog of confusion began to lift, she realized there was really only one question that had any importance whatsoever, "Where is Vash?"

Wolfwood lit a cigarette. And though she hadn't seen him in over two months, Meryl quickly recognized it as a gesture he used to mask his distress. "Dunno. Not here. The jeep--"

"-- the _stolen_ jeep--" Millie added.

Wolfwood quirked an eyebrow, but continued undaunted, "--is still outside though."

"Didn't you come with him?" Meryl asked.

Millie answered, "Gosh, no. In fact, Mr. Vash shot Nicholas just so we wouldn't follow."

Meryl turned to the priest with a gasp. "Bastard," Wolfwood groused as confirmation.

"But I put that old tracking device in his pocket before he left and it led us to you," Millie finished.

"Is there a pickup truck outside?" Meryl asked.

"No, but there are tire tracks leading north," Wolfwood said.

"He must be with Knives then. We have to go after them." Meryl tried to rise from the ground, but Wolfwood stopped her with a firm hand.

"Not happening. Satellite says there've been sandstorms cutting back and forth across that whole area for weeks. Even if we risked it, I'm sure the tracks are already covered. Besides," he pointedly looked at Meryl's swollen and discolored face, "you need a hospital, and a dentist."

"Like hell, I do!" Meryl knocked away his hand as he tried again to prevent her from standing. She managed to get to her feet, Vash's duster hanging like a tent over her small frame. "I'm going after him, and if you're too chicken-shit, you can stay here or go home, or... or... go to hell, for all I care!!"

She turned on her heel with a huff, gathering the dragging tails of the coat with as much grace as she could. "Come on, Millie!"

She hadn't walked more than two steps before she found herself tossed over a broad, black-clad shoulder. "Put me down, you jerk!"

Her arms were bound by the duster, so beating on his back or hitting him in the head was out of the question. She had to settle for kicking, which proved difficult considering the priest had an arm wrapped strongly across the backs of her legs. She looked up to see her junior partner following. "Millie!"

"Sorry, Sempai." Millie said meekly. Wolfwood kept walking as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

"Traitors! Dammit, I said put me down!" All this squirming and bouncing around was making Meryl feel sick and lightheaded.

"Hey! Knock it off!" Wolfwood commanded as one of the small feet kicking near his waist came dangerously close to more delicate anatomy. "You have any idea what Vash would do to me if I didn't get you to a doctor?"

"You should be more worried about what _I'm_ going to do to you! You chain-smoking, cowardly, undead..." She broke off suddenly with a moan. She was going to be sick.

Wolfwood seemed to anticipate this, as he immediately, and smoothly, set her back on the ground. He soothed a hand back and forth between her shoulder blades, in a gesture that was startlingly tender considering the source.

With her stomach truly and utterly empty, Meryl paused to catch her breath. She was bent at the waist, her head hanging forward, hands resting on her knees. Wolfwood's hand stilled comfortingly on her shoulder. He leaned in close and spoke gently. "It's killing me too," he told her, "but there's nothing we can do for Vash right now. And we've got to get you fixed up one way or another."

Meryl wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. "What if..."

"Don't start thinking like that, Sempai." Millie offered Meryl a canteen to rinse her mouth. "I'm sure Mr. Vash will be just fine."

"You can't know that."

Millie considered her response carefully. She didn't know the details of what had happened to Meryl since she'd last seen her, but it had obviously been brutal. Her partner needed reassurance and a hospital, not a headful of 'what if's. The truth was that Millie was not at all sure that Mr. Vash would be just fine.

Millie and Wolfwood had followed the tracker signal without much difficulty. Thank goodness the device had one heck of a range. Bernardelli might have been stingy when it came to traveling expenses, but it turned out that their equipment was top of the line. When the signal had stopped moving, they were still hours away from its location. By the time they'd reached the plant, Wolfwood had been strung as tightly as a bow, and Millie's stomach had been turning somersaults. When they'd finally gone inside, it became apparent that all their anxiety at facing a conflict was for nothing. They'd found Meryl, and a pool of blood. No Knives. No Vash.

Although Meryl would have bled from her injuries, there was no way a split lip and a missing tooth were responsible for the amount of blood they'd found. Couple that with finding Vash's jacket, and there weren't a lot of attractive conclusions to be reached.

Wolfwood had moved Meryl. She was still unconscious, but breathing steadily, and he hadn't wanted her waking up and seeing half of the blood in Vash's body splattered on the ground. Of course Millie had been worried about her partner, and felt that she should be attending to her, but she hadn't been able to move. She'd stared at the thick red puddles, trying to make sense of what she saw, hoping against all odds...

"What do you think?" Millie had asked the priest when he reappeared at her side, knowing she probably wouldn't like his theories any better than her own.

"Well..." He'd paused, taking a moment to fish his pockets for a cigarette. "We didn't find a body."

Millie had suspected he'd meant that to be encouraging; she hadn't found it to be so. She'd wished he'd take off those stupid sunglasses so she could see his eyes. He was hard to read when he chose to be. "Nicholas?"

"Hmm?"

"What else are you thinking?"

He hadn't looked at her, just stared at the ground. It'd been hot, even though they were out of the suns. He'd batted a fly away from his face, a stray from the buzzing swarm around the blood. He'd turned, walking back in the direction where he'd moved Meryl. "Nothing," he'd said dismissively. "Go get that first aid kit, will ya? I'll see if I can wake her up."

Millie had let it go at the time, and he'd pretended he didn't know she was letting him slide. He'd been protecting her, Millie realized. Knowing just how concerned he was wouldn't help her or Vash. Better to try and be positive. And though she abhorred lying, Millie was about to extend the same merciful deception to Meryl now.

"How can you know he's alright, Millie?" Meryl asked again.

Millie put on her best smile. "Sempai! This _is _Mr. Vash we're talking about! He always turns up sooner or later, and all our worrying turns out to be for nothing, so I'm just not going to worry at all this time!"

Meryl smiled weakly, still worried out of her mind, but beginning to see the wisdom in medical attention. "Okay," she relented. "Hospital, then we find Vash."

"Deal!" Millie hugged her friend, smiling triumphantly. "Besides, the three of us are old pros at tracking down Mr. Vash. He couldn't lose us if he tried!"

"Which he has," Wolfwood smirked, "repeatedly."

Meryl offered him another wane smile. He offered his arm, but she shook her head, walking towards their vehicle on her own two feet. At least, that had been her intention. As soon as she stepped away from Wolfwood a wave of faintness took the strength right out of her legs.

"Has anyone ever pointed out what a stubborn, pain in the ass you are?" Wolfwood asked conversationally as he scooped her up.

Meryl sighed heavily. She hated this. Hated being this useless. "I just want to get this over with so we can go find Vash."

Wolfwood helped her into one of the jeeps outside. "Whose car is this?" Meryl asked.

"The McLeods'," Millie answered. "Mac was awful nice about lending it to us. How'd you get here with Knives?"

"I, um... sort of stole a pickup."

"Meryl!" Millie exclaimed as she slid into the driver's side. Wolfwood laughed appreciatively from his seat in the back.

"Knives told me to get a vehicle and I didn't know what else to do!" She defended.

"So, shorty," Wolfwood raised a questioning eyebrow above the frame of his glasses, "how's it you know how to steal trucks in the first place?"

Meryl sunk down into the jacket, willing herself to disappear. "There is no power on this planet that will make me give you the details of that story, Wolfwood."

"A story, huh?" He leaned forward, grinning wickedly. Meryl grumbled and tried to ignore him, taking several of the painkillers Millie offered her. "Are you sure? I bet it's a good one. I still got that confessional if you have sins to unload, my child."

Meryl whipped around in her seat. "No Power On This Planet!!" The fast turn and the yelling brought on a new agony of pain. She groaned.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he soothed, raising his hands appeasingly between them.

He noted Millie was giving him a mean look in the rearview as well. '_New subject!' _her eyes said.

Wolfwood cleared his throat, "Anyway, what I need to know, is what happened back there."

Millie's eyes rolled as he watched them in the mirror. "She'll tell us later," she said firmly, "_after_ she sees a doctor."

"No, it's okay, Millie. I'm okay." Meryl leaned her head back, enjoying what coolness the moving air offered. "I'll tell you now."

* * *

At the very moment Meryl woke up, and found herself looking into the face of a man who was supposed to be dead, another man was coming to in a pickup, about fifty iles north, and wishing he was. Vash tried to look around, but found himself unable to focus his eyes. He closed them again and tried to assess his current situation using his other senses. 

He was in the bed of a truck. He could tell by the movement and the feel of the surface beneath his back. It was daylight, but what day, he couldn't be sure. He heard the slide of a window above his head and tried to open his eyes again, catching a glimpse of Knives before the light forced them shut.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Knives called over his shoulder from the driver's seat, with mock-pleasantry. "And how are we feeling?"

Vash tried to speak, but could only manage a muffled, unintelligible croak.

"_Talk like this, dullard,"_ Knives said telepathically. _"It won't hurt."_

Vash begged to differ. His head was killing him. _"I'm going to kill you."_

Knives laughed. Apparently he liked the sound of his own voice too much to keep it in his head. "Of course, brother. Anytime you'd like to try. You want me to pull over now?"

"_Yes."_

"Well, that's just stupid. Even for you. You can't even move." He sounded less amused.

"_Pull over and watch me."_

"If you don't mind, Vash," Knives said, his voice carefully conversational, "I'm trying to outrun a sandstorm at the moment, so why don't you rest up for awhile and you can kill me later."

Vash tried to sit up, to look out the back and see if there really was a storm. The moment he so much as tried to twitch a muscle, however, every nerve between his neck and groin screamed in protest.

"I'm not bandaging that wound again if you open it back up," Knives threatened. "You can bleed to death for all I care."

Vash groaned but lay still. _"I hope I do."_

"What?"

"_Bleed to death."_

"Ingrate." Knives looked straight ahead. Vash could feel the truck accelerating. After a moment Knives added, "I didn't kill her."

A little flame of hope sprang to life in his chest. _"What?"_

"Your human pet. Not dead." At Vash's sigh of relief, Knives made an annoyed snort. "You still want to kill me? You still want to die?"

"_Where is she?"_

"How the hell am I supposed to know? She was still breathing when I left her. What else do you want?"

Vash didn't care if his guts were on fire. He was going to choke the life out of his brother. _"You abandoned her in the desert!?"_

Knives rolled his eyes. "Calm yourself. If she can't get home with food, water, a vehicle, _and_ that fancy coat of yours, she deserves to be dead."

Vash wasn't sure he'd heard him correctly. _"You left supplies for her?"_

Knives ignored the question. His voice reflected his mounting irritation. "It's her own fault anyway! You know I let her go? She could have been long gone by the time I got out of that bulb!"

Vash didn't know if he was more surprised that Meryl hadn't run, or that Knives had given her the opportunity to in the first place. _"Why, Knives?"_

"_Shut up and go back to sleep, moron! I can't concentrate with your babbling!"_ Knives began to speak telepathically to save himself yelling over the whistling pitch of the wind. Vash noted that the truck seemed to be moving at an even greater speed than before. They probably were running from a sandstorm. _ "You know, when you shot me, I didn't complain the whole way out of the desert."_

Vash laughed and wished he hadn't; it hurt like hell. _"You were unconscious!"_

"_An attribute I wish you'd strive for."_

Vash waited a beat. Then he asked, _"Where are we going?"_

"_I told you to shut up!"_ Knives roared, his patience clearly spent. _"One more word and I'm dumping you. You can take your chances with the sandstorm!"_

Vash would have liked to argue more. In his current condition, annoying Knives was about the only vengeance he could extract. And he really wanted to know what had happened to Meryl. Was Knives telling the truth? Why would she stay if he'd let her go? He was exhausted, though. His body was practically commanding him to sleep. That deep sleep that came on whenever he was seriously injured. Talking telepathically, trying to focus his mind and thoughts, had worn him out as well. He tried to stay awake, but it was too much. If the sandstorm managed to catch them, he probably wouldn't even feel it.

The last thing he wondered, before darkness overwhelmed the edges of his mind, was what Meryl was doing.

* * *

"So, how 's our girl?" Wolfwood asked Millie, as she slipped quietly out of Meryl's room. He'd been chased out by a nurse nearly an hour ago, but somehow Millie had weaseled her way into being allowed to stay. Damned, puppy-dog eyes. All she had to to was say, 'please,' while his attempts at charming the nurse had landed him a spot on a bench outside. 

"Well, she's got an IV in. She was pretty dehydrated. She's banged up, obviously. But the doctor says she mostly just needs some rest." Millie sat down tiredly on the bench beside him. "She thinks that what happened to Vash is her fault. That if she'd just run when she had the chance, he wouldn't have gotten hurt."

He eyed her cautiously. "And how do you feel?"

Her normally smiling mouth was turned in a slight frown. "I keep thinking that I should have been there. That I should have done something when I first found she was gone. This shouldn't have happened to her." Wolfwood huffed irritably, and Millie turned in confusion. "What?"

"She feels guilty. You feel guilty. Hell, _I_ feel guilty because I didn't go after Vash right away. And I know it's terrible, but I'm relieved as hell that Knives didn't take you." He raked a hand through his hair, sending the dark strands into disarray. Millie suddenly realized how exhausted he must be.

"That's not terrible." She smiled gently. "Seeing what this is doing to Meryl makes me grateful that you're okay, and that I have you here with me. And this isn't your fault."

"No. It's Vash's fault."

Millie's brow creased. "Don't say that."

"And why not? It's true." He finally turned to her. His words were angry and damning, but his eyes gave away his concern. "I'm gonna beat the piss out of him next time I see him."

Millie smiled knowingly. At least he was talking about next times. "You wanna tell me what you're thinking about?"

He pensively put a cigarette between his lips, but stopped before lighting it, as if he'd only just remembered they were in a hospital. "When we found Meryl... someone wrapped her in that duster."

Millie nodded. "And there was food and water right by her feet. Someone left it for her."

"So... the sixty billion double-dollar question..."

"Is 'who'."

"And 'why'."

"Do you think it was Mr. Vash?"

Wolfwood shook his head. "At first, I thought that was a possibility. I figured Spiky might've beaten Knives and decided he had to take him somewhere safe, away from other people. So being the dumbass that he is, he left some supplies for Meryl and took off."

"But you don't think that anymore?"

"No. I never really believed that. Just kind of hoped. Needle noggin' that he can be, Vash wouldn't have left Meryl like that. And from what she told us, Knives had him beat. That blood we found was Vash's. And that injured, I doubt he was even conscious. So that only leaves Knives to take care of Meryl, and that just doesn't make any sense."

"Do you think Mr. Vash is still alive?"

Wolfwood rubbed his eyes. "I honestly don't know. Knives is unpredictable. I mean, he assembles a team of the most capable assassins in the world and sends them after his brother, but then he hires me to make sure they don't actually succeed. He kidnaps Meryl, then lets her go, only to bash her face in later? And if he is the one who left those things for her... I just don't get it."

"Well, I don't think Mr. Knives would kill him." The conviction in her voice made him turn, curiously studying her expression. "Mr. Vash told me that he was going to save his brother. And I still believe him."

Wolfwood blinked incredulously at her certainty. She smiled warmly. "How do you do that?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"All the things I can't, like it's no big deal."

She laughed and lifted his arm, cuddling closer to him beneath it. "I don't do the things you _can't,_ silly. I just do the things you haven't tried."

He tightened his arm around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Well, stop it," he scolded fondly. "It's extremely irritating."

She reached an arm across him to catch his hand in hers. She gave it a light squeeze before asking, "So what now? How do we find him?"

"We wait. The minute we hear of a sighting, or any sort of lead, we check it out. That's how I found him the last time I lost him."

"Yeah, that's usually how we find him too." She disentangled herself enough to look up at him. "What'll we do while we wait?"

"Distract Meryl? Though, I don't even know if that's possible. Once she gets her mind set on something..."

"Preaching to the choir, Father," Millie interrupted with the voice of one who had long-suffered. "I know all about it."

"Yeah, I'll bet," he laughed. "I would like to see about my orphanage though. I've been away too long."

"Where is it?"

"Some crummy town at the edges of the Outer. Unfortunately, it's the best I could manage at the time."

Millie sat up straighter and smiled brightly at him. The look in her eyes made him a little nervous. "Millie? What are you thinking?"

"Ever thought about moving the orphanage? I know a place that would be perfect!"

"Where?" he asked guardedly.

Her eyes practically sparkled. "Have you ever been to September?"


	7. Brothers and Sisters

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/wouldn't-you-_still_-like-to-know  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating: **T- for violence, language, sexual content (this chapter isn't particularly violent, foul-mouthed, or sexy-- just brilliant, thought-provoking, hilarious prose-- brought to you by your deeply humble author.)  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last Time: We learned that Vash is not quite as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside... at least not when we're talking about his internal organs. Meryl woke up with the worst hangover ever! And she wasn't even at happy hour. Everyone feared for Vash's life, but they needn't have worried, for Vash was riding safely in the back of a pickup truck, with Knives behind the wheel and a sandstorm hot on their heels. Wait... that doesn't sound safe at all. Uh, we also learned an interesting tidbit about Meryl's potentially sordid past: our girl knows how to boost cars! But there's no power on this planet that will get her to tell you the details of that story.

**A/N:** Who rocks harder than a sandsteamer besieged by B. D. Neon? Why, Alaena Night and Sugar Pill, of course! But you already knew that, didn't you? Thanks to all who left offerings at the Altar of Reviews. Those babies are like an aphrodisiac, only they put me in the mood to write sweet, sweet fanfiction.  
Additionally, I'm now addicted to Aine of Knockaine's "When Darkness Prevails"... I think you should all go read it and harass her for updates until she caves. Oi! Aine!-- Here's my chapter. Where's yours? ;-)

* * *

**Chapter 7: Brothers and Sisters**

* * *

_Am I awake?_

Vash was 'aware', but that wasn't necessarily the same as being 'awake'. The sensory information that would confirm his status as 'awake' was missing. After all, consciousness implied that one had arms, legs, eyes. Vash couldn't feel any of these. He had no sense of a body whatsoever. He couldn't see. Couldn't hear. Couldn't taste, smell, move.

_Am I even alive?_

It occurred to Vash that he wasn't afraid. He waited for a sense of panic that never arrived. He was trapped without a corporeal shell, in the dark, with no sense of where he was or how he got there. And yet, he wasn't frightened.

"_Hello, Vash."_

Oh, so that's why he wasn't afraid: he wasn't alone. He could sense his sister, her presence profoundly comforting. She was keeping him calm.

"_Where am I? Why can't I feel my body?"_ He couldn't speak the words, not even telepathically. He just, sort of, thought them, and hoped she could hear.

She laughed, or smiled. No, that wasn't right. He couldn't see her, or even hear her. Her words and reactions were simply _understood._ He was in a bulb. He was being healed, and couldn't feel his body because she was preventing it. The body had been in pain, and it had been necessary to separate the mind from it. He knew this, because she knew this. She didn't tell him, so much as she _shared _the knowledge, a million facets and undulations beneath their interaction, more and other than words could express.

"_What is this?"_ he wondered.

"_You can hear us." _Vash could tell it wasn't what she'd expected. She? Was that right? No. Them, all of his sisters. He could sense the sister with him now, as well as every plant on the planet. Like a hive, there were the thoughts of the individuals, plus the collective consciousness they shared.

"_Does Knives know?" _he asked.

"_No. We don't know if he can't hear us, or if he's simply unwilling to listen."_

Vash now knew that the interaction Knives had with their sisters was a mediated version. He spoke only directly with the individual in front of him. He didn't hear the chorus that lay beyond. Which meant that his twin wasn't truly understanding them. Come to think of it, Vash didn't even know if he truly understood. He had a sense that he was only scratching the surface.

"_Why aren't we a part of it? Knives and I? Why didn't I ever know?"_

The answer was like a blade in his mind. Too many words at once. Too many feelings. Like trying to make out single grains of sand in a dust-storm. He couldn't make any sense of it. The assault ended as sharply as it began, like a faucet quickly turned off. _"Forgive us, brother. It was too much."_

The soothing presence of the plant was back, like a warm salve. Vash relaxed, as much as one could without any sense of having muscles to relax. He had the feeling of coming home. A flash of a memory. It had been like this with Knives, with their mother, before they'd been born. _"Where's Knives? I can't feel him."_

"_He's nearby, but he doesn't want to be sensed." _She/They weren't really communicating in words, he realized. It was just that his mind wasn't capable of understanding her/their language in its pure form. The words were spoken in his voice, as if his own brain were supplying them.

"_Why won't Knives speak to me?" _he asked.

"_He's very delicate, that brother of ours. He's very afraid. He's been checking on you constantly. We think he's going to take you out soon."_

If Vash had had a brow to knit, he would have done so now. _ "I don't understand. Was he afraid I was going to die? I didn't think I'd been hurt that badly."_

"_You weren't."_

"_So, then why is he...?"_

"_He is afraid of so much. But, you already knew that, little brother. Where would you have us begin? You will take care of him for us, won't you? Help him understand."_

"_Understand what?"_

"_He can't kill them... we need them."_

"_What? How can I help him understand that? I don't even understand! What are you talking about?"_

That smile/laugh again. Something like a mental embrace, or a hug from a soul, or maybe a group of souls. He didn't know anymore. He didn't understand half of what they were saying/projecting, whatever you'd call this bizarre form of communication. He was going to tell her/them to wait, that he needed a better explanation, but suddenly he had a body again. And that body was falling.

His knees hit the ground hard. After being without his five primary senses, Vash found their abrupt return to be acutely overpowering. Sight, sound, smell, touch-- Funny, how he'd never noticed what the inside of his mouth tasted like.

"Breathe, Vash!" a voice that belonged to Knives ordered. That probably meant that the arms preventing him from falling on his face were Knives' too.

Vash complied with the command, and nearly broke a rib coughing out the slime that lined his throat. When he could take air evenly, Vash opened his eyes. He found his face reflected in a hauntingly similar pair. For a moment Knives looked just as he had when they were little boys. He was kneeling in front of him, holding him up by the shoulders. His face was nervous, but unguarded. It had been so long since Vash had seen his brother like that. "You okay now, Vash?"

Vash nodded. Everything was falling back into place. "Where are we?"

"A SEEDs ship."

Vash looked around the room. It was sterile looking, cold. There were several plants, control panels. He'd lived in a place like this for the first year of his life. "This is your home?"

"It's where I live, if that's what you mean." Knives was back to being smug and patronizing. Whatever Vash had seen in his eyes moments earlier was gone. It pissed Vash off. Knives abducts him, gives him zero information, and then acts like he doesn't have a right to ask questions?

Knives frowned, studying Vash's face. "I'm not going to talk to you if you're just going to be shirty about it."

"Stay out of my head, Knives!" Damn, it was annoying having to police your every thought. "You _will_ talk to me, and I'll be as 'shirty' as I like!"

Knives scowled. He shoved a bundle of terrycloth in Vash's direction. "Would you like a towel? Or were you planning on throwing your tantrum naked?"

Vash snatched the towel from his fist, an expression dangerously close to a pout forming as he wiped the slime from his face. "How long was I in there?"

Knives brought his hand to the back of his neck. It was a gesture Vash recognized, because he did it all the time, usually when he was nervous, or stalling. "Don't play with me, Knives," Vash warned. "How long?"

* * *

A month. Twenty-nine goddamn days they'd been following every whisper and rumor, and still no trace of him. And for the past week they'd heard nothing. Big fat goose-egg. Not a word about the most notorious outlaw on Gunsmoke. A man so destructive, he'd been deemed an Act of God by the Federal Government. Hadn't _anyone_ seen him? 

Meryl blew her bangs out of her eyes with a huff. It was true that none of their previous leads had panned out. Unfortunately, Vash was so famous, or infamous rather, that there were plenty of second-rate thugs more than willing to pretend to be him. But at least, when she was on the road, tracking down clues and getting shot at, Meryl could pretend that everything was normal.

When they'd run out of information to follow up on, Millie and Wolfwood decided to follow through on their plans for his orphanage, volunteering Meryl to help. In the priest's absence the establishment had thinned out to eight residents: a handful of kids between the ages of four and thirteen, who'd been running wild since the chaplain Wolfwood had left in charge disappeared.

The reunion between Wolfwood and the orphans, especially the older ones, had been heartbreaking to witness. This gang of children, that he'd tried to save, to give a better life than what he'd had, had been left to fend for themselves once more. They greeted the priest with fists, giving way to tearful hugs, equal parts relief and outrage.

Wolfwood hadn't known, couldn't have known. He'd stayed away to keep them safe, sent any money he came across back to them. It turned out the chaplain he'd thought he could trust (hell, they'd grown up together) had taken the money and run. Millie and Meryl had both tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, but he was resolved to blame himself. The preacher's aptitude for self-reproach was rivaled only by a certain broom-headed gunslinger. _Why do Millie and I keep getting stuck with these stubborn jerks?_

Despite his guilt, Meryl could tell that Wolfwood was really proud of the kids. They'd been looking out for each other, protecting each other like family. And it was a damn good thing. There was always someone willing to take advantage of a kid on his or her own. Especially, in the sort of town where the orphanage had been.

Had been. As in, past tense. The entire operation had been relocated (with the help of eleven bus tickets, thank you very much, Bernardelli) to the Thompson Homestead, fifteen iles from the heart of downtown September.

Poor Wolfwood had no idea what he'd gotten himself into. Of course, it had all been Millie's idea. Meryl was sure she'd even posed it as a 'suggestion'. Let him think he actually had a say in the matter. Meryl herself had fallen victim to Millie's particular style of passive-aggressive negotiation on numerous occasion. Not that it was a bad plan. The kids seemed to really like it on the farm, though not a single one had so much as ever lifted a shovel, let alone mucked a thomas stall. They were taking to farm-life quickly though. Nothing like being well-fed and safe. And, naturally, that made Wolfwood happy, but still...

Meryl remembered the night the trio had first arrived in September. Of course, Millie had written ahead to announce their arrival. Road-worn and starving, they'd been ushered inside by Millie's mother, Elinor, and greeted by over a dozen people of varying ages that Meryl had trouble keeping track of. Brothers, sisters, nieces, uncles, grandma... wow. And they were all enormous. A family of heroically proportioned giants. Standing in the shadow of Millie's dad, Meryl had felt as large as a toddler.

Of course, they'd heard _all_ about her. The famous Meryl. A toast in her honor and then hugging and spinning. It seemed like everyone was talking to her at the same time, asking questions she didn't have a hope of answering before the next one was launched. It was wonderful, but it was overwhelming. Especially for a girl who'd had practically no family.

Thinking about that had made her wonder how Wolfwood was faring. He was, after all, an orphan. She hazarded a glance around the bulk of what she thought was Millie's middle big brother, and found the priest with his back against a wall. His shoulders were up around his ears, and Meryl thought that if he put his hands any deeper into his pockets, he'd be scratching his knees. He kept disappearing behind the crowd of Thompsons pushing their way past each other to make his acquaintance.

Meryl craned her neck for a better look as Millie's larger-than-life father made his way over to the priest. Wolfwood saw his approach, his unease nearly palpable as his eyes darted around for an exit, landing briefly on Meryl, as if asking for help. Of course, if he wanted assistance, Meryl thought, he'd better look for Millie. Meryl knew as much about dealing with a big family, and over-bearing parents, as he did.

If Millie's father noticed Wolfwood's discomfort, he certainly didn't show it. He walked right up to the priest and clapped him hard on the shoulder, grinning broadly. "Well, now! It's good to finally meet you. We thought you were dead, boy! Happy to see it wasn't the case. Nathaniel Thompson." He spoke quickly, and his voice was booming, even in conversation. Outside of a few genetically altered criminals, he was the largest man Meryl had ever seen.

Wolfwood extended his hand, and Meryl hoped he got it back with all the bones in one piece, judging from the hearty shake he received. The priest tried on a smile, which did little to mask how uncomfortable he felt. "Same here. I mean, it's nice to meet you, as well. Nicholas Wolfwood."

Nathaniel hadn't released Wolfwood's hand right away. Instead he'd pulled the smaller man a bit closer, his expression darkening slightly as he threatened, "You best do right by my youngest, son."

"Daddy!" Millie yelped.

Meryl could have sworn she heard the priest gulp from across the room. "Y-yes, sir."

Meryl had been in awe. _Did he just stutter?_ Wolfwood! Bad-ass, sharp-shooting, monster-slaying Wolfwood! She'd never seen him behave in a way that was other than cool and collected. Even when people were trying to kill them, he rarely lost his composure or self-assured swagger. And here he was, more skittish than a teen-aged prom date! And he called someone 'sir'! It was just _bizarre._ Meryl knew it was more than a little evil to laugh, but it was the funniest damned thing she'd ever seen. _Oh, what I wouldn't give for Vash to see this!_

Nathaniel had laughed, deep and from the belly. "You hear this kid, Ellie? 'Sir'! Man, you should have seen your face! I had you going!"

Wolfwood chuckled nervously, his panicked eyes seeking Millie out. Nathaniel threw an arm heavily around his shoulders, barring any attempt to escape. "You hear that everyone? We're gonna have a preacher's wife in the family!"

Meryl hadn't actually known that Wolfwood could blush. She'd certainly never seen him do it before. "Daddy, stop it!" Millie shrieked again, the color in her cheeks even deeper than her lover's.

"Just sportin' with your beau, sweetie!" The big man's face was rosy, but with laughter instead of embarrassment. Yep, Meryl thought, Millie's father was _just _as she'd expected. "Come on, Nicky. You kids must be starving. And I'll tell you what: my Ellie's one hell of a cook."

Meryl had followed the crowd to the dinner table. She'd raised an eyebrow at Wolfwood, as if to ask, _"Nicky?"_

Wolfwood had quirked one right back, as if to answer, _"Don't even start."_

Meryl grinned fondly at the memory from her seat on the Thompson clan's front porch. This farm was so beautiful. Meryl had never encountered such an abundance of life before. Acres of land, heavy with ripened wheat, or green with thick grass and mosses. Cement fisheries teeming with salmon. Vegetable gardens, flowers, herbs. And, my god, the trees! It was paradise. A patch of heaven east of Eden. How had Millie ever been able to leave? _Vash would adore it here. _

Meryl grimaced. It would be nice if she could go ten minutes without thinking about him. The last time he'd disappeared like this, he'd been gone for two years. She just wasn't sure she could do that again. Let alone, if for some reason, if she never... _Stop it! Stop it right now! You will not cry. You absolutely will not cry._

Meryl tried to distract herself, focusing on the three men walking in from the fields. Wolfwood walked between Nathaniel, and Millie's brother, Vince. They were coming in from fixing a length of fence. Wolfwood hadn't known the first thing about working a farm, but Millie's father seemed dead-set on making sure he was a quick study. The three looked like they'd been rolling in the dirt instead of digging holes for fence posts. Meryl watched as a little girl of about four bounded over to the priest, lifting her arms, a gesture universally understood by children to mean, "up."

She considered Wolfwood as he casually settled the child on his hip with the well-practiced ease of a man who'd performed the action many times before. He confused Meryl at times. He could be so hard, merciless even, and yet he was so very _good _in his own way. He'd changed since Carcasses. And for the better, Meryl decided. He no longer seemed tormented or undecided. Conflicted by his decisions or actions. He didn't wear the suit anymore. Usually, like now, it was just jeans and a t-shirt. And they weren't even black some of the time. Even under the near inch of dirt and grime that covered him, there was a purity to Wolfwood that before had been absent.

Wolfwood smiled as he whispered something in the child's ear, and she began to giggle, covering her mouth with a pudgy hand. That was different too, Meryl realized, he smiled much more readily. Again she found herself thinking of Vash. She wished he could see Wolfwood like this.

When the men reached the porch, Wolfwood handed the child off to Vince. The younger man was stiff, as if he was afraid of dropping her. Meryl thought that was funny, considering his gaggle of nieces and nephews. And she had it on good authority that Vince's fiancé wanted to try for kids just as soon as they were married. With the wedding only a few weeks away, she hoped Vince got comfortable with children in a hurry.

Nathaniel held the door for Vince and waited for Wolfwood, but the priest waved him on. He waited until Millie's father went inside, and then took a seat next to Meryl. He sighed appreciatively as he stretched his arms over his head. "This a private pity-party? Or can anyone brood?"

Meryl laughed. "Be my guest, _Nicky_."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Ouch! You know, it's bad enough her whole family calls me that."

"Oh, shut up. You like it."

"I like Millie's family well enough," he conceded. "But I do_ not _like being called anything other than 'Wolfwood'."

Meryl smirked: an expression that let him know, that she knew, that he was full of it. "Millie calls you 'Nicholas', even 'Nick' sometimes."

"What?!" He looked deeply scandalized. "You've never heard her call me 'Nick'!"

"Oh yes, I have!" she laughed.

"But that's different," he reasoned. "She has diplomatic immunity."

"Sucker."

Wolfwood grinned wickedly around the unlit cigarette between his teeth. "Oh, you just wait, insurance girl. When Tongari's back, you'll be teaching me what it means to make a fool of yourself, and I'll be the one laughing."

"What the hell are you going on about?"

He lit the cigarette and took a long drag, carefully directing the smoke away from her. "Never mind. If you don't know, I'm not going to spell it out for you."

Meryl briefly considered pressing him to elaborate, but a small part of her knew she wasn't going to like where he went. Instead she settled for, "You can be a real creep sometimes, you know that?"

"And I'm also very fond of you," he smiled.

Meryl ran a hand through her hair, tugging at the growing strands. It was amazing what two months without a cut will do to short hair. "So, what if he's not coming back?"

"He'll be back." Wolfwood didn't even hesitate as he answered.

"How can you know that!?" she demanded. "You and Millie keep saying that like it's as certain as sun in August!"

"Well, I wasn't sure at first," he admitted. "I was leaning towards the conclusion that he was dead, to tell you the truth. But now, something in my gut just knows he's not."

Meryl threw her hands in the air. "That's it!? You're basing this on your gut-feeling!? That's got to be the most half-witted..."

"And what's more," he interrupted, "you're even more certain than I am that he's alive."

"Oh really?" Meryl crossed her arms, "And is this a gut-feeling as well?"

"Nope," Wolfwood lazily stubbed his cigarette out in an old can. "I have evidence behind this particular assertion."

Meryl had been ready to ask about this "evidence", when the priest reached down for her ankle without warning. She was barefoot and wearing a pair of loose, linen capris. He lifted her foot and used it to stretch her leg in front of him, nearly toppling her onto her back.

"What the hell are you doing!?" Meryl shrieked, her arms flailing for purchase as she lost her balance. "Get your hands off me!"

"Calm down, lady. I'm just proving a point." He pushed her pant leg up to her knee with his free hand, drawing her calf closer to his face for inspection.

"And what point is that? I already know you're the most unorthodox, sorry-excuse for a clergyman this side of New Rome!" Meryl let her leg go limp. She felt silly trying to jerk it away from him, and he was making her curious anyway.

Wolfwood ran the index finger of his free hand along her shin, from ankle to knee. He released her leg and smiled triumphantly. "Just as I thought."

Meryl could feel she was blushing a little, and damned the translucence of her skin. "What?"

"No stubble," he said, as if that explained it.

"So?"

"So, contrary to what you may have heard, I happen to know a thing or two about women."

"Really?" Meryl fixed him with a look that said she thought he knew about anything but.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, I do." He nodded sagely. "And I _know _that you wouldn't be shaving your legs _everyday_ if you didn't expect him to walk onto this porch any minute."

Meryl was keenly tempted to knock that stupid smile right off his face. _I can't believe I was thinking nice things about him! _"Wolfwood, that is the most asinine thing you have ever said!" She clenched her hands into fists, preparing to deliver a witty retort. "I shave my legs because... Not that it's any of your damn business... And how would you even...!?"

He stood and ruffled her hair. "Whatever you say, Meryl."

He started walking towards the front door and Meryl turned in her seat. There was no way he was getting the last word. "I don't know what Millie sees in you, you jerk!"

He laughed as he disappeared inside the house. "Me neither."

* * *

Vash tried to wrap his mind around the idea of one month. He'd never been all that good with time, his concept of it ending with the understanding that it was flying faster than he could track. In fact, there had been periods in his long life when the days and hours bled together until the difference between something that had taken place six months ago, and six years ago, seemed inconsequential. Having been so close to Millie, Meryl, and Wolfwood over the past few years, however, had done wonders to instill in him an appreciation for the preciousness of time. A month seemed awfully long. 

He would have been tempted to believe that Knives was kidding. But looking at his sibling's serious glower, he realized that Knives had never been particularly funny, and now was an unlikely time for him to start playing jokes.

"A month? What did you do that for? I wasn't hurt that badly!"

"Actually, it's only been twenty-nine days. Frankly, I thought you'd be a little more grateful."

"Grateful!? Are you deranged?"

Knives snorted a laugh. "Hardly... How do you feel, anyway?"

Vash considered this. He'd been so preoccupied, he hadn't taken stock of his condition. The moment he began to pay attention to his body, one detail seemed glaringly obvious. "Where's my arm?"

Knives inspected the site where Vash's prosthetic was normally attached. It was a smooth, fully healed stump beneath his left deltoid. Even the metal socket that connected the prosthetic was gone. "Interesting."

Vash jerked his body away from where his brother was poking at him like a particularly fascinating specimen. He brought his right hand up to feel the smooth skin. "Don't talk like I'm some kind of science experiment. What did you do to me?"

Knives flinched at the word 'experiment' and looked coldly at his twin. "I haven't done anything to you. Surely you've noticed that anything inorganic that goes into a bulb doesn't come out again? I just thought it was interesting that your arm would be absorbed as well."

Nothing inorganic? Vash inspected his body more closely. All of the long-familiar scars were still in place, but the hardware was gone. No bits of metal, no grate digging into the flesh of his chest. He stretched his shoulders and flexed his arm a few times. Usually, the scar tissue was tight. He didn't spend three hours doing calisthenics every morning just to keep his reflexes sharp; if he didn't stretch the scars he'd eventually lose his mobility. But everything was softer now. He could move freely and without pain. "Huh."

"'Huh'?" Knives was visibly annoyed again. "I do everything in my power to fix the damage that garbage did to you, and all I get is a 'huh'?"

Vash ignored his brother's irascibility. "Where does everything go? It's not still in the bulb, is it?"

"Of course not, half-wit. It's part of your body now, I imagine. Our kind transmutes whatever raw materials we're given into the desired final product. Thus, water and energy from seemingly nothing. Though, in your case, it seems you've been damaged too badly to be fully restored."

"Wow." Vash pressed his palm over the place where the grate had been, as if he might be able to feel it still under the skin. "Can you do that? Can I?"

Knives rubbed his forehead with an impatient hand. "Are you telling me that you've honestly never thought about how it is that we're capable of doing the things we can?"

"The things we...?" Vash began uncertainly. Knives tapped his foot irritably as the cogs clicked into place in Vash's head. "The angel arms! How I was able to part the glass at the bulb in Carcasses... It's all reassignment of matter! I don't know why I never thought of it before... It all makes so much more sense now."

Knives appraised his sibling's awestruck face and looked to the sky as if asking for strength. "What is it you _do_ think about, Vash?"

"I don't know, Knives. How to keep the people I love safe? How to prevent you from destroying everything I hold dear?" He scowled at Knives and got an identical expression in response. "So how's it done? What are the limitations?"

Knives frowned and recrossed his arms. "I don't know."

Vash looked back up at the bulb. His sister was in the center, hidden from view. He thought back on the knowledge that had been revealed during his time inside. "They're not doing so well."

"I know that, Vash."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I thought they were being drained by the populations relying on them, but even in the places where I've gotten rid of the humans, they're not recovering like I thought they would." Knives bit his lip, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. Vash suddenly felt grateful for being allowed to see it. Knives was still cagey, to be sure, but he was slightly less defensive for a moment, and Vash softened.

"I know you think I don't care about them, Knives. But I do. I want to help our sisters, too."

Knives wasn't prepared to discuss the fate of their brethren. If Vash truly did care about their sisters, he had a funny way of showing it. But if Knives was truthful with himself, he had to admit that his attempts at saving them had mostly been failures. With what the plant had shown him, the compassion she'd displayed for the humans in her care, Knives wasn't sure of himself anymore. He'd been working it over and over for a month, and still he couldn't see a solution, an explanation.

Vash was looking at him expectantly, openly. Knives hated that look. He changed the subject. "So you're feeling better then?"

Vash had to laugh. Was he feeling better? His body hadn't felt this good in years. It was amazing how one could learn to ignore pain when it was constant. The removal of the bolts, pins, and other bits of metal made him feel like a boulder had been lifted from his shoulders. "Yeah. I feel great, actually." He smiled, but Knives was refusing to make eye-contact. "Why'd you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you wanted me to suffer." Vash's voice was soft, free from any sort of accusation. He was more curious than anything.

Knives sighed, and bounced on the balls of his feet as if he were fighting to stand still. His eyes looked everywhere but at Vash. "I never wanted you to suffer. I just wanted you to understand." He swallowed hard. "It made me sick to see what you let them do to you. I hated you for it."

"You hate me still?" Vash gazed steadily at his twin, even though he still wouldn't look at him.

"No."

"What then?"

"I don't know."

"Well, what the hell do you plan to do now, Knives? Great. You patched me up. We going to go back to the way it was? I can't let you hurt any more people."

"Just, shut up and listen to me!" Knives finally turned his eyes on Vash, the blue of them so cold that they almost glowed purple. "It's not working, Vash! Everything I planned, everything I've worked for! There's no point in going on like this anymore. Your idiocy is inherent. I'm never going to get to you the way I've been trying, and there's no point if I can't save you!"

Vash was shocked. He had to close his mouth where his jaw had been hanging open. When he did, he formed a careful smile. "That's funny, I feel the same way about you."

Knives wasn't smiling. He looked like he was about to crawl out of his skin. Quietly, and with difficulty, he said, "I'm going to give you two years."

Vash drew his eyebrows together. "I'm sorry, what?"

Knives' frown deepened. "I will give you two years. I'll play by your rules. I'll do what you say. And then you have to do the same for me."

Was Knives offering what he thought he was? A truce? A chance for Vash to convince him that humanity was worth saving? "Don't be stupid, Vash." Knives' voice cut though his thoughts. Vash was going to have to be more vigilant to prevent his brother's telepathic eavesdropping. "You don't honestly think you're going to convince me of that. I've just decided, that for the time being, I want you alive more than I want them dead. Anyway, I'm not getting anywhere having to redirect my energy towards chasing you all the time."

Vash thought very carefully about Knives' offer. It was true that for the past century neither of them had gotten much accomplished aside from canceling each other out. If Knives was working with him, Vash would be able to put all his half-formed plans for this planet into action. But by the end of his turn, he'd have to bring Knives around to his way of thinking. Otherwise, it would be Knives' turn at being in charge, and Vash doubted a single human being would survive that reign of terror. "I need ten years."

Knives laughed. "Not a chance. Three."

Vash grinned. "Five."

Knives chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before nodding slowly. "Agreeable. But I get the same afterwards."

"Deal. But I want your word that you will not directly or indirectly, through action or thought, bring harm to a human being. And I get to define what 'harm' means."

"Very thorough disclaimer, brother." A shadow of a smile quirked at the corner of Knives' mouth. "I will give you my word, that for the next five years I will not hurt a human, _unless_ said human threatens me or mine."

Vash quickly shook his head. "That's not good enough, Knives."

"Well, it's the best you're going to get! Take it or leave it. Or would you rather I gave you back your gun and we can spend the next century or two chasing each other around the desert?"

Vash knew he wasn't going to get a better offer. He'd just have to make sure no one gave Knives a reason to hurt them. "No. That will have to do." Vash ran his hand over his damp, stiffening hair. This was a huge change for Knives, and he didn't dare ask what had brought it on, lest his brother suddenly decide to change his mind, but he had to know, "Are you _sure_ about this, Knives? Can I trust you?"

Knives spoke slowly and carefully. "I've been alone while you healed for twenty-nine days, Vash. I've had a lot of time to think. You have my word. I won't betray our agreement."

Knives let that empathic channel between the brothers slip open a bit. Vash suspected it was so he could feel that Knives wasn't lying, but Vash sensed something more. Knives' emotions were unnerved and conflicted, treading over unfamiliar ground. But he was earnest, beyond the anger he always felt, seemingly at everyone and everything around him, was a threadbare desire to try.

The tears welled instantly in Vash's eyes, followed by the knee-jerk impulse to wrap the one arm he had around his brother's back. Knives instantly stiffened in the embrace, but didn't pull away. "You're pushing it, Vash. This is unseemly."

Vash ignored his twin's protest, tightening his grip. He wiped his eyes on Knives' shoulder, never really caring for decorum. "I've really missed you, Knives."

Knives awkwardly patted his brother's shoulder, his other arm still hanging tensely at his side. After everything he'd done, all of the pain he'd inflicted, how could Vash hug him so spontaneously and openly? Didn't he harbor any hatred? Wasn't he afraid? He could feel Vash's tears soaking through his shirt, a slight tremor in the arm around his back. It made Knives unspeakably uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Okay. Let go of me now."

Vash pulled away, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. Knives rolled his eyes and carefully readjusted his shirt, frowning at the wet marks Vash's tears had left on the shoulder. With deep sarcasm, he asked, "So, what now, fearless leader?"

"Well," Vash blinked thoughtfully, "I'd like some pants. Pants would be good."

"I saved all of your clothes before I put you in the bulb. You've got pants. Even a shirt." Knives impatiently replied.

"Really? Would have been nice if you'd set my arm aside," Vash grumbled.

Knives shrugged, but made no attempt to defend himself.

"I suppose," Vash continued, "we'll go to New Oregon. I need a new arm, and I think it would be the best place for us to set up."

Knives looked uneasy. "Aren't there a lot of people in New Oregon?"

"Well, yeah. Some."

"Can't we just stay here?"

"What? No! I thought I was in charge! I want you to spend some time around people, Knives. People you've promised not to hurt."

"I hate your plan already." Knives angrily chewed at his thumbnail. Vash couldn't remember ever seeing him so discomposed. "They'll kill me the first chance they get for what I've done. And you too, for bringing me."

"They don't know what you've done," Vash soothed. "And I know them. They're good, honest, caring people. And you're going to give them a chance to prove it to you."

"What about your pet? And the tall one? And the priest?"

"As soon as I've got you set up in New Oregon, I'm going to find them." Honestly, Vash wanted to go and find them _now_. But he wasn't about to take Knives with him. He wouldn't force any of them, especially Meryl, to be in his brother's presence again.

"Give her up, Vash. I don't want her near you."

Vash didn't even have to ask who Knives was talking about. "Why?"

"Because," Knives fumbled for a plausible reason, "because you're stupid around her!"

"I disagree. I think I'm more myself around her."

Knives appraised the, somewhat day-dreamy, little smile on Vash's face with open disgust. "I'm going to be ill."

"She understands me, Knives."

Knives had been about to say that he did too, that no one could hope to understand Vash better than he did, but he realized that was a lie. Hadn't he been thinking about that everyday for the past month? Vash's pet had been right: Knives didn't understand his brother at all. He thought about the look in her eyes before she'd passed out, the tenor of the little voice that spoke in his head, asking him not to hurt Vash.

Knives _really_ didn't want to see the diminutive creature ever again. And if he was going to prevent it, obviously, he needed a new approach. Vash thought he was noble, right? Knives tried again, "It's selfish. If nothing else, it's not fair to her."

Vash wasn't fooled. "Don't even pretend to be concerned about her."

"I'm concerned for you, moron. She doesn't know what she's getting herself into, and she'll tear you apart."

Vash smiled, barely a turn of his lips. "Yeah, you might be right. But you know what? I don't care. Isn't that strange?"

"No," Knives scoffed. "It's idiotic. But I suppose I shouldn't expect any less from a childish, dull-minded, haphazard, waste of..."

"Come on, Knives. I want to get going," Vash said, securing the knot in the towel around his waist (as best he could with one hand) as he stepped away from his brother. "Is there satellite access here? 'Cause I wanna send word ahead to the Doc."

"I don't want to do this, Vash!" Knives' eyes were wide and a little panicked. "You're not leaving me alone in a human cesspool! I won't do it! I refuse!"

"You can't refuse. You gave me your word, remember?" He offered Knives a gentle smile. "Aw, don't worry so much. You'll be fine. I promise."

Knives looked less than convinced. His scowl deepened as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "I'm beginning to regret my decision."

Vash's smile widened. "Don't say that. Trust me, Knives. It's the best decision you've ever made."

* * *


	8. The Persistence of Memory

**Title: **_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas: **Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/_I_-don't-even-know  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content (gruesome dream sequences, foul-mouthed boys, and an inappropriate priest)  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer: **Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling. Also, "The Persistence of Memory" is a painting by Dali. And, "Kaze wa Mirai ni Fuku" is by AKIMA & NEOS

**Summary:** Last Time: Like some morbid nature show about the mating habits of the wolverine, we witnessed as the elusive 'wolfwood' was awkwardly introduced into a domestic environment. Although removed from his natural habitat, the priest does seem to be adapting pretty quickly. And of course, Meryl is always around if he needs to have a laugh at her expense. Aww! He does it out of love, you know. Meanwhile, back at the lab of Dr. Strange, Vash found out that he'd been a plant bulb for a whole month. Knives made a strategic decision to ally himself with Vash. Now all he has to do is make it through the next five years, and then, with his brother by his side, world domination will be at hand! I mean, what's five measly years when you're a plant, right?... right? Um, I think Knives might've gotten himself in over his head.

**A/N:** This chapter is so freaking long... it makes my brain hurt. It's over nine-thousand words. Isn't that sick? My betas have been super busy, but still managed to help me get through this awful thing. If you don't like it, I don't even want to hear about it! No, no... just kidding. All comments are welcomed, encouraged, sought, desired, lusted after. Thank you, reviewers. Your entrance to Paradise is assured.

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Persistence of Memory**

* * *

The hum of machinery, and the muffled observations of men, were sharply and morbidly contrasted by the only other sound in the room: the resounding pitch of a child crying. Wailing, frightened gasps of sobs, punctuated by painful shrieks. 

"Please! Please stop! It hurts! It...!"

His pleas were cut off by another scream as something sharp twisted in his side. He could feel his flesh turn around something cold and metallic.

The figures around him didn't respond to his cries. Men of various heights and builds, all dressed alike in white clothing. The light in his eyes was too bright for him to make out their features. The face of one of the scientists appeared, a surgical mask over his mouth and nose, hovering between him and the overhead light. He wore glasses, and when they caught the light, Knives could see his own reflection. It was the round face of a little boy, platinum hair matted and greasy. His wide, blue eyes had purple shadows beneath them. His skin held an ashen cast. The scientist turned his head, and Knives could see his naked chest reflected as the man carved a Y-shaped incision, the blood beading and beginning to flow along the line the scalpel drew.

Knives screamed, full-throated and terrified. His arms fought against the straps restraining them, but he was just a little boy. What could he do? He turned his head to the side, desperately searching the room for help.

"Vash! Rem!"

They were standing a few feel away. Talking to each other and smiling. He couldn't hear what they were saying, and they didn't seem to notice him.

"Rem! Help me, Rem!"

He had to blink rapidly to clear the tears, but his vision was still blurry. Why didn't she hear him? Why was she letting this happen? Something was wrong.

Knives focused his attention on Vash. Captured by the logic of the dream, it didn't seem odd that Vash was a full-grown man, while Knives himself was only a child. He was dressed in his red jacket, holding something in his hand. An apple. But the fruit was too red. It all but glowed crimson as he brought it to his mouth. He took a bite, and finally his eyes landed on Knives.

"Vash!" Knives sobbed. "Help me! Make them stop!"

Vash grinned unpleasantly. He chewed the apple as he walked slowly towards Knives, the muscles in his legs and shoulders rolling, the motion reminding Knives of the predatory stalk of a cat. His eyes held a malicious intent that Knives had never seen there before. "Don't lie to your brother," Vash chided.

"W-what...?"

Knives was in pain. The most terrible and visceral pain he could imagine, but the most prominent feeling in his body at that moment was terror. The sudden, icy knowledge that Vash wanted to hurt him was freezing the blood in his veins.

"Didn't you want me to suffer, Knives?"

"No! No, Vash, I never..."

"Liar." Vash's grin widened to display the threat of teeth. "_'Eternal suffering to Vash the Stampede.'_ Isn't that right, brother? Isn't that what you told them?"

Knives could barely speak through his hiccuping sobs. "No! I swear... I didn't want...!"

"So, tell me now..." Vash leaned closer. His gaze trailed down Knives' body, observing the damage with a nearly obscene smile and a glint of maniacal satisfaction in his eyes, his voice a dark threat in his throat. "...How does it feel?"

Knives didn't answer, too terrified to even breathe. With a sadistic half-grin that split his face like a knife, Vash closed his eyes, his chin tilting downward. Knives watched in horror as blood flowed over his forehead, covering Vash's features in a nearly black, syrupy spill. His eyes shot open, looking up beneath darkened brows. Knives struggled again to free himself, to get away from the eyes that glowed with neon intensity from under all that blood and darkness. Vash's eyes changed, the aqua swirling and deepening to the coldest and richest of blues. Those weren't Vash's eyes; they were his own.

Knives blinked and found he was off the operating table. He'd switched places with Vash's menacing figure and was looking down from inside his adult body. He could feel the viciousness etched in his features. Could feel how terrifying his gaze was, and the heat and slickness of blood on his face.

He looked at the table where the scientists were dissecting their specimen. A little boy. With large, aqua eyes and spiky golden blond hair. _ Vash. _ They pulled the flaps of flesh away from the incision in the boy's chest. Knives could see his ribs, the heart fluttering frantically beneath. He watched it happen and didn't move. Knives turned to the apple in his hand, the edges of the bite mark were bleeding, dripping to the floor. The sour after-taste of the fruit was still on his tongue.

"Knives?" Vash asked, and Knives' eyes darted to the child's face. It occurred to Knives that Vash should be afraid. Why then, did he only look so terribly sad?

Vash stared into Knives's face, wincing only slightly as one of the scientist's gloved hands disappeared inside his abdomen. His small voice was like a bell, a despondent ring of betrayal. "Why?"

Knives woke, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle any small sound that might try to escape.

"HOHO---- WO NADERU KUUKI TO NEKOROBU KUSA GA AREBA!!!!"

He turned in his seat to find his brother singing along (loudly) with the satellite. The idiot was smiling stupidly, his head bobbing around to the rhythm of the song, while his fingers tapped out the drum-line on the steering wheel.

_Just a dream. It was just a stupid dream._ Knives took a deep breath and blew it out hard. He hadn't had dreams of any sort since he was very young, but in the past month he'd found himself reintroduced to the particular joys of vivid nightmares. It seemed like every time he woke up lately he was soaked with sweat, his heart beating in his ears. Well, at least with Vash singing at the top of his lungs, he hadn't noticed. The last thing Knives wanted was to have to explain why he'd woken up gasping like a little girl.

"HOKA NI NANIMO IRANAI MICHITARITA EGAO DE!!!!!!!"

_Err! _Knives winced at the volume of Vash's singing. He began to unbutton his duster, feeling the clothing underneath sticking to his skin.

"Hey-ya, Knives! You okay?" Vash turned the volume down slightly so he could speak over the music.

"Fine," Knives spat, with none of the friendliness displayed by his twin. "It's just hot. And you woke me up with your awful singing."

Vash smiled, seemingly amused by his brother's crankiness. "Really? You know, I've been told I have a very nice singing voice. In fact, I won the Providence City Seventh Annual Karaoke Showdown back in 072... or maybe it was 073..."

"Fascinating," Knives dead-panned. Free of his jacket, the air felt wonderful over his damp skin and clothes. He wished it would carry away the sinking feeling the nightmare had left him with, along with the heat and sweat.

"Hey, Knives?" Vash asked softly.

Knives stared out into the desert as it whipped past them, facing away from where Vash sat. He tried to push the images from the nightmare out of his mind, but they kept playing on a loop. _What the hell was that about?_

"Um, Knives?" Vash tried again.

"What?" Knives continued to look out the passenger side window. He tried to replace the invasive imagery of the dream with something more pleasant, but found he didn't have much to draw on.

"Do you remember when we were real little, and you used to have those night terrors?"

_Damn. _ So Vash had noticed, Knives realized. He had probably been singing that loudly in an attempt to wake Knives up. "No," he lied, "not ringing any bells."

"You used to wake me up; you'd be screaming in your sleep. And we'd go stay in Rem's room." Knives didn't turn his head, but he could feel Vash looking at him. "I didn't realize you still had nightmares."

"I don't," Knives bit out.

Knives didn't usually lie to Vash. He never felt the need. Knives might have been a ruthless, methodical killer, but he was an _honest_, ruthless, methodical killer. It had, however, been a very long time since Knives had felt any sort of vulnerability. He was still shaken from the dream, much as he loathed to admit it, and he really wasn't in the mood to take a walk down memory lane with Vash. But he did remember.

He had been six months old, maybe three years to the human eye. For some reason, he began to have the most terrible dreams. Faceless monsters trying to hurt him, hurting Vash and Rem. He couldn't move, screams of warning caught in his throat. When he did scream, it broke into the waking world, and he would find himself sobbing in his brother's arms, grateful that Vash was alive and unharmed. Vash would lead him by the hand to Rem's room and she would pull back the covers. Her bed was always warm. She smelled of soap and safety, holding him against her as she drifted back to sleep. Vash would get in on the other side, sometimes holding Knives' hand to comfort him, his breath sweet and warm on his face.

What was this? Knives hadn't even remembered that, let alone thought about it, for over a hundred years. It elicited an emotion he refused to name, choosing instead to brush it away. _That was before I knew any better. Before I was strong. _ But how strong was he now, if his own mind betrayed him in sleep?

It had to be that nonsense with Vash's pet. The sight of a superior being begging for the life of a mortal, he reasoned, was disturbing enough to give anyone nightmares. And then there was the human's reaction. Having been inside the girl's mind, he couldn't deny her sincerity. She'd wanted to save Vash's life, even at the expense of her own. It was so maddeningly irrational! He'd only ever come across one other human who'd displayed the same altruism: Rem. Maybe that's why he was dreaming of her now.

He should have just killed the creature when he'd had the chance. He'd won, had his hand around her throat. It would have been so easy to be rid of her, and then...

And then Vash would be a hollow shell and he'd truly lose him forever.

_Fuck._ Why did he care so much? Certainly, Vash was better off dead, rather than be a slave to his delusions about humanity. After Knives had tucked Vash away in the bulb, he'd gone through his things. He'd found his black colt at the bottom of the duffel, along with some of Vash's extra clothing, hair gel, toothbrush, letters post-marked from New Oregon, and...

A photograph.

Knives had unfolded a carefully wrapped scrap of fabric to reveal a Polaroid. He'd simply stared, a wall of memory toppling over his mind. Rem had shown them the device: a camera. She'd explained that it could capture a person's face, so that one could look back at it and always remember. Knives had thought it was stupid; he never forgot anything, but Vash had been eager and excited. Rem had held the camera to her face, looking at her boys through the lens.

"Smile now!" she'd said.

Suddenly, Knives had been nervous, not sure what having his 'picture taken' would be like. As always, Vash had sensed his apprehension, and before the shutter snapped, he'd taken Knives' hand and tucked his brother's body just slightly behind his own.

"_Don't worry, Knives,"_ Vash's voice had soothed in his mind. _"Smile!"_

And Knives had smiled, knowing that Vash and Rem were with him, and nothing could ever change that.

Shaking himself from the grip of the memory, Knives had torn the photograph in half, and then in half again. Again and again, until it was nothing more than little squares of paper and celluloid.

Why had Vash kept it? Their lives weren't like that anymore, and they would never be like that again. What was the point of remembering? No wonder Knives was having these stupid dreams.

He thought back to what the Vash of his nightmare had said: _"Eternal suffering to Vash the Stampede."_ Was that right? Is that what he'd really wanted? It had been what he'd asked for, what he'd commanded. He'd always rationalized that it was the only way to make Vash understand, and that the means would be justified by the end. But the nightmare version of Vash had been right: When he'd told Vash that he'd never really wanted him to suffer, it had been a lie. Knives had been furious at Vash. Hated him for leaving, for sympathizing with the trash of this planet, even as they betrayed and abused him. How dare he? And how dare he raise his hand against his own brother in their defense? Knives had truly wanted him to suffer, had wanted revenge. And every tear that Vash had shed, every ache in his bleeding-heart, was a victory Knives had reveled in. And finally, when Knives had forced his hand, compelled him to kill, Vash's anguish had been so acute that Knives couldn't help but be aware of it. And, dear God, had it felt good.

Knives turned to look at his brother, who'd focused his attention back on the make-shift road before them. He was humming along with the (much quieter) satellite broadcast. He noticed Knives move in his periphery, and turned to offer him a docile smile. "You sure you're okay?"

He remembered himself in the dream, watching as Vash was dissected. Doing nothing to stop it. A part of him had even felt satisfied by the sight of it. Thinking about it, and seeing the gentle concern in Vash now, Knives felt the stab of an emotion which might have been regret, maybe even shame.

"Knives?"

He turned his head away again, unable to look at his twin's face any longer. "Piss off, Vash. I told you I was fine."

* * *

"Hi, Angelina! How's it going today?" 

The young woman was nearly startled out of her skin by the intern's enthusiastic greeting. The pipette she was holding fumbled from her hand and shattered on the ground.

"Whoops! Sorry," the man sheepishly offered as he stooped to help her clean the mess.

"Leave it, Dewey," she said, as she shooed his hands away. She fixed him with an irritated glare. "I thought I told you not to call me by my first name?"

"Oh yeah, um, sorry again, Dr. Fray."

There had been a time when she had found his goofiness endearing. And his classically handsome features, and runner's body, hadn't hurt. But she had to work with him, and by her own rule book, that meant 'hands off.' And lust, like so many of life's most enjoyable pleasures, came with an expiration date. Dewey was fast becoming as appealing as two week old bread.

Angelina rolled her eyes and turned to look at her now ruined experiment. She'd have to start all over. Dewey was still standing there, smiling idiotically, with a look of open adoration on his face. She was about to tell him to go find something useful to do (if he was even capable of something useful) when a tall woman came to both of their rescues.

"Shoo, Spot. Isn't there something you should be doing?"

"Yes, Dr. Reynolds, I mean, Miss Elisabeth. Sorry." He blushed softly and made a hasty retreat back towards his department.

"Jeez!" Angelina groused. "Sometimes I don't think he'll ever take the hint."

"He just has a crush on you, Lina," Elisabeth laughed. "Would it really be so bad to go out with him once?"

"Are you kidding? That guy has 'commitment' written all over him. One date, and he'll have us practically betrothed. Definitely too much of a hassle to be worth it," Lina complained. "Anyway, thanks. I owe you one for saving me... again."

Three years earlier, when Lina had first met Elisabeth, she'd been five months pregnant and the categorical definition of 'desperate'. It was quite a turnaround from who she'd been nearly a year before that, when Ericks had been living with her, and Grandma was still alive. The residents of Kasted City had been fond of her. She was the spunky little girl with the big smile. But thanks to the wide-held belief that she and her grandmother had knowingly harbored Vash the Stampede, their hospitality and affection was swiftly waning. On top of that, puberty hit Lina hard, and it became apparent to every man in town that she'd been lying about her age. In fact, she was closer to fifteen than thirteen years she claimed.

Grandma Sheryl took ill, and with her death, Lina's situation became desperate. She had no way out of Kasted City, and she couldn't bring herself to use the emergency contact information Ericks had left. Surely, he had more important things to do than play damsel-in-distress with her. Who was she to him anyway? The more Lina thought about it, the more she was convinced that she and her grandmother had been a convenient and lovely fantasy. His life with them had been a temporary escape from reality. There was no way he'd want to hear from her again.

Lina struggled, fighting off the aggressions of men who at one time in her life had been like kindly uncles or older brothers. But she was no longer the sweet little girl they'd known. She was a woman, and a liar, and a tease. Eventually, Lina had given herself to a local tough-guy, in exchange for protection. She'd tried to console herself with the fact that she'd had no other option. Besides, she'd told herself, it wasn't like she was a virgin. She'd stared over his shoulder at the ceiling, her face blank, and was vaguely aware that this time, it hardly even hurt.

The 'arrangement' resulted in a pregnancy, which Lina became aware of only after the father was gunned down in a robbery attempt. Lina had reasoned that his death might have been for the best. He'd turned out to be a bigger bastard than she'd expected. He had been mean, and he hit. But the fact had remained: Lina was left to fend for herself once more. And this time she didn't just have herself to worry about.

In the early stages of her pregnancy, Lina had been tempted to drink herself into oblivion, waking only when the seed in her womb had ceased to grow. But with a full bottle of tequila ready in her hand, Lina had been overwhelmed with the bitter knowledge that it just wasn't who she was. As shitty as the simple act of existing had become, Lina's nature dictated that she was just too stubborn to give up. She'd poured the liquor out in the sand, almost like some sort of an offering. _Dear God,_ she'd pleaded, _I could really use some help. _

It was exactly three months later that the miracle occurred: the plant broke down.

Now in most circles of thought, the breakdown of a plant would hardly be considered miraculous. More like, disastrous, actually. But this particular breakdown brought the Marius Bresken Kantacle Technical Industrial Union, and their chief engineer: Doctor Elisabeth Reynolds.

Lina had begged the union for a job, even a temporary one. Certainly someone needed coffee fetched, or some other menial task? Lina would take anything. Dr. Reynolds, who preferred to be called 'Miss Elisabeth', had sympathized with the young woman. Despite some of the more womanly curves she'd developed, and the prominent swell of her abdomen, Lina still had the face and stature of a girl much younger than her years. Elisabeth knew what it was like to have no one in the world but yourself. She'd insisted that Lina become her new personal assistant.

For her part, Lina was baffled by the woman. First, there was her clothing. How could something be so revealing and seductive, while being stiff and proper at the same time? Men drooled over her, but she was the consummate lady. Never a hair out of place, never a crack in her makeup. She was leather and lace. A deceptively delicate looking flower with a stem full of patient thorns. She was polite and pleasant, but when she saw something she wanted, she took it without apology.

Elisabeth's interest in the young woman had gone deeper than simple compassion. She had suspected that there was more to Lina than met the eye. There was a determination to the set of her jaw, and a fierceness in her gaze, that told Elisabeth she had survived something terrible, something that a lesser person might have buckled under. Elisabeth recognized it because it was an attribute she herself possessed.

Tentatively, she began to introduce Lina to the concepts of plant maintenance, and the theories and science behind them. Her suspicions that Lina was special were confirmed. The girl had a photographic memory, reached complex conclusions, and understood abstract concepts before they'd even been explained to her. Who would have thought that Elisabeth would discover a certifiable genius in a back-desert town like Kasted City?

It wasn't particularly surprising that no one, including Lina, had realized her potential. Life in the Outer was about guns and survival, not books and science. Lina had even been confused. "Isn't everyone like this?" she'd asked, then scoffed, "It's really not all that hard."

Elisabeth had taken Lina to see the Professor in December City. It was there that she'd given birth to a baby girl. Lina had named her 'Chance', a reminder that life had a way of creating purity and beauty from even the most sordid and dire of circumstances. The Professor had an apartment set up for the young mother, which was paid for by the union, along with the costs of Lina's education.

With the help of both the Professor and Elisabeth, Lina had flown through her studies and had become the youngest person in the history of Gunsmoke to receive a doctorate. Then, for good measure, she went and got another one. Doctor Angelina Fray was now one of the most prominent, living experts in plant biology. All at the tender age of eighteen.

Of course, the assimilation of motherhood, and the study of molecular biology and biochemistry, had done little to soften or refine her indelicate disposition. She went through men like Kleenex, swore and drank like a seasoned desperado, and just last week had been involved in a bar fight that had required the intervention of the Federal Calvary.

Elisabeth absolutely adored her.

"You know, I didn't come over here just to rescue you from your latest would-be paramour," Elisabeth scolded fondly, "The Professor would like a word with you."

"Aww, man! What's that old coot want now?" Lina complained, though Elisabeth knew her insult was in jest. "The incident in the elemental acceleration booth was _so_ not my fault."

"Relax, will you?" Elizabeth laughed as she started down the hall toward the Professor's office. "You're not in trouble... for once. But there's something important we both need to talk to you about."

"Oh, yeah?" Lina said, as she jogged a few steps to keep up with the taller woman's strides.

"We've been..." Elisabeth hesitated, her hand poised on the Professor's door, "...we've kept certain aspects of our research secret from you, Lina. But we've both decided it's time you were on the inside."

Lina didn't have the opportunity to question her further, as the door opened and they found themselves in front of the Professor's desk.

The 'Professor', as everyone called him was pretty spry for an old man. Lina knew he was in his sixties, but he didn't look any older than forty-five. A life spent in close proximity to plants would do that to a person, though the reasons were unknown. In fact, it was the subject of her most recent research.

"Hello, Angelina. Have a seat won't you?" He smiled warmly, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. He was a handsome man, and if he hadn't been married to his work, he would've had no trouble finding a wife. Lina had heard rumors that he'd been married once before, but she'd never felt it was appropriate to ask. The Professor was quite private regarding his personal life.

"Good morning, Sensei," she greeted as she took a seat in one of the two leather chairs in front of his desk. Elisabeth gracefully settled herself in the other.

"Angelina, I'd like you to take a look at these." He pushed a folder across the desk and Lina opened it. She willed her expression to remain blank as she looked at the series of photographs. "Do you recognize that man?"

Lina looked up at him curiously. "Yeah, of course. That's Vash the Stampede. Why?"

The Professor seemed to be gauging her reactions carefully. She felt suddenly uneasy beneath his gaze. "When Elisabeth found you in Kasted City, there was talk that the Humanoid Typhoon had been living with you and your grandmother for a time. Is that the same man?"

"No, Sensei," Lina lied. Elisabeth and the Professor had become her family, but Ericks still held a firm grip on her loyalties. Intuition told her to keep his identity secret. Even from Lizzie and her Sensei.

"I see," he replied. Lina couldn't be sure if he believed her, but it seemed he wasn't going to press her further. "So, why don't you tell me what you know about the man pictured there?"

"Well," she hesitated, turning to Elisabeth, who nodded her encouragement, "well, he's the most notorious outlaw on the planet. He had a sixty billion double-dollar prize on his head until the Feds dubbed him an Act of God and rescinded the bounty. Allegedly, he's responsible for the destruction of July and Augusta, as well as the crater in the Fifth Moon."

"Allegedly?" the Professor questioned. "You don't sound like you believe it."

"Of course I don't believe it," Lina scoffed. "It's ridiculous. There's no way one man was responsible for that kind of destruction. And besides, look at that guy! He's can't be out of his twenties. What, did he blow up July as a toddler? I think it's much more likely that plant malfunction was responsible for July and Augusta. I mean, we even have records of an incredible spike in the local plants' energy levels right before each incident."

"Yes, that's quite logical," he noted, "but what if I told you both theories were correct in their own way?"

Lina blinked and looked over at Elisabeth again, who merely sat patiently, an impassive expression on her face. "I'm sorry, Sensei. I don't think I follow you."

"Those disasters were, in fact, caused by Vash the Stampede."

"But, how is that possible?"

"Because, dear girl," the Professor explained, "Vash the Stampede is a plant."

Lina's jaw actually dropped. Were they joking?

"It's true, Lina," Elisabeth finally spoke up. "I was at July, remember? I saw the Destroyer with my own eyes when I was a little girl. Twenty years later I crossed paths with him again, and he hadn't aged a day."

"But..." Lina's head was spinning. _If this is true, and Vash the Stampede is a plant, and Ericks is Vash the Stampede, then... then... wait... Lizzie knows Ericks?_ She shook her head to try to knock her train of thought into some kind of logical order. One thing was certain: she was done playing this game. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now. "He can't be a plant. For one thing, plants can't live outside of a bulb. And for another, they're all female!"

"Think of it, Angelina," the Professor leaned across his desk, his excitement showing for the first time in their conversation, "an autonomous plant. Free to walk around as it pleases, to live among us in secret. And what's more... there are two."

"Huh?" Granted it wasn't the most articulate of responses, but it was the best she could come up with, given the circumstances.

"He has a brother," Elisabeth supplied, "a plant known as Millions Knives."

"How... how could you possibly know this?"

"I once had a Sensei, too," the Professor explained, "a man whose life had been extended by cold sleep and plant technology. He was one of the premier scientists of Project SEEDs, actually crash landing on this planet with our ancestors. His name was Doctor William Conrad. He came to me when I was an engineer at a single plant settlement. I had been doing some research that he found interesting, and he asked me for a meeting. He confided in me that he felt his life was growing short, that he'd been forced into alliance with the one called 'Knives', and that it was only a matter of time before the plant ended his life. Before he was killed, he shared what he knew, and entrusted me with the protection of humanity."

"This is... this is unbelievable! It's... I don't know what to say..."

The Professor came around his desk and kneeled in front of Lina, taking her hands in his own. "I know it's a lot to take in, Angelina. I'm sorry to have kept this from you. You must know how dear you've become to me, you and Chance both. I would never want to cause you undo worry, or put you in danger. But, you've got to understand what we're up against here: There are two autonomous plants that can, and will, destroy this planet and every living person on it. Besides the three of us in this room, there are only a handful of people who've any idea of the danger we're in. It's a huge responsibility, and I am deeply sorry to burden you with it, but if we're going to save our race, I'm going to need your help."

Lina blinked, freeing tears that rolled to her chin. Was this all true? Her Sensei had given her every reason to trust him completely, had taken care of her and her daughter when the world had tossed them aside. He and Elisabeth had been there for her, not just professionally, but like family. She knew she wouldn't have been able to get through her studies, and the terrible-twos, if it wasn't for their help. Lina turned to look at Elisabeth. She was leaning forward, concern mixing with the tears in her emerald eyes. Neither would lie to her, but... _oh, Ericks... Did I ever know you at all?_

"Okay," Lina said, wiping at her eyes, "what do you need me to do?"

The Professor smiled briefly, before his expression became serious once more. "The time has come, Angelina, to strike back."

* * *

Wolfwood surveyed the Thompsons' grand room from his comfortable position on Nathaniel's favorite chair. A 'grand room', as it turned out, was just a fancy name for a living room, kitchen, and dining room with an open layout. Therefore, even from the overstuffed armchair, which threatened to swallow him with its size and plushness, Wolfwood could watch the traffic in all three. 

The majority of the family was out of the house. Millie's middle big sister, Margaret, had taken the orphans on a field trip of sorts, something about bird-watching. Some of the older boys had taken a real shine to Margaret, and they'd made it clear to the preacher that his chaperoning was neither required, nor desired.

Nathaniel, Vince, and a handful of day-laborers were out working the fields. It was Sunday, and Wolfwood had announced at the morning meal that, being a man of the cloth, working today would be strictly against his religion. No one had questioned the utterly pious nature of his assertion, except, of course, for Meryl. His shin still hurt from the kick she'd given him under the breakfast table. That woman was nothing but five feel of trouble.

The petite maelstrom of womanly wrath in question was currently in the kitchen, helping Elinor make the final adjustments to Vince's soon-to-be wife's gown. The future Mrs. Vincent Thompson (Abby) was standing on a chair, glowing in white, while the other women fussed at the hem of the dress. For some reason, he was surprised to learn that Meryl could sew. She just didn't seem all that... domestic. But, then again, look who was talking: the mercenary padre turned dutiful farmer.

Wolfwood figured that he deserved a break. He'd been working, like a mule, everyday under the oppression of two heartless suns. He'd never worked so hard in his life. Even the years of grueling training he'd been subjected to as a child, paled in comparison to the backbreaking labor of an honest day's work.

He had to admit though, he could get used to a life like this.

He hadn't had much use for his gun since they'd arrived in September. Yesterday, he'd fired into the air, frightening off a murder of crows after the wheat crop. Not much work for such a sophisticated weapon. It was both funny and sad: he felt strange living without the very real fear of imminent death. How long had he been living with one eye looking back over his shoulder? Now, his biggest worry was negotiating the attachment of a plow to a jumpy thomas, or playing Tooth Fairy to the orphans, trying to remove a lost molar from under little Jill's pillow and replace it with a silver double-dollar without waking her up.

Besides the three in the kitchen (_ha!_ And now Meryl was swearing as she stuck herself with a needle) the only other person in sight was doing paperwork at the dining room table. Earlier that morning, he'd broken his vow of a day without labor in order to help Millie rake out the toma coop. Immediately afterwards, he'd taken a shower, but it didn't appear that she'd done the same. Her shirt (_his_ shirt, actually) was filthy. It hung imprecisely over her shoulders, giving her a boxy appearance, doing no justice whatsoever to the decidedly feminine curves he knew were hidden beneath. Only one side of her overalls was fastened. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head with an elastic, and he suspected she'd gone to sleep with it wet the night before, as it was sticking up at an odd angle in the front. Ledgers and scraps of paper were scattered across the table in front of her. There was a rather large smudge of dirt across her nose and one of her cheeks. And as she worked over the numbers for the day-laborers' wages, her eyebrows screwed together in concentration, and the tip of her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth.

She was freaking adorable, and he'd never wanted her more.

She looked up and met his eyes. He offered up a smirk and she blushed furiously, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. When she turned back to her figures, she couldn't suppress her smile, and she began humming along with the satellite broadcast that played softly in the background.

Yep. Wolfwood was becoming awfully fond of the simple life. Too bad it wouldn't last.

His smile slipped away as his train of thought became darker. It was only a matter of time before Vash returned, and this whole beautiful fantasy would be shattered. Wolfwood couldn't be mad at him. After all, he'd done the same thing to Vash nearly four years ago. He'd built himself a nice little life in Kasted City, had people he cared about, a family. And Wolfwood had come to take it all away. Turnaround was fair play, and certainly no less than Wolfwood deserved.

If there was one thing Wolfwood had learned about redemption, it was that it took work. You couldn't just say you were sorry and expect to get a fresh start. You had to put yourself out there, make right as many wrongs as possible, and then maybe, just maybe, you'd get your chance at happiness. And of all the people he had to make amends to, Vash topped the list.

Spending time here with Millie and her family, Wolfwood had been given a glimpse of the life he now knew he wanted. And it was Vash who'd given him a second chance at making it his own. A chance to be somebody else. Maybe somebody more like himself, who he could have been before the circumstances of his life had led him to believe he had no other choice. For his entire life, he'd walked the same path, believing it was right, if for no other reason than there were no other roads to follow. Vash had given him a blank ticket, a future where the options were potentially limitless, not only by having saved his life, but by becoming his friend. Wolfwood just hoped that someday he'd earn it, that one day he'd be good enough to make it work.

"Vince! Don't you dare come in here!" Elinor yelled out from the kitchen, as Abby made a beeline through the living room and out of sight.

"I know, I know! Bad luck to see the bride. But Millie and Meryl got a letter, and it's marked urgent." Vince stood framed in the front door, one hand covering his eyes, while the other held an envelope aloft.

Meryl made an attempt to take it from his hand, but his eyes were closed and his hand was at least three feel above her head. Millie took the letter and handed it to her senior partner.

"It's from Bernardelli," she said as she tore the envelope open, her eyes quickly scanning the sheet of paper enclosed.

"Yay!" Millie bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet. "Finally! Our back pay!"

The insurance girls had told Wolfwood of their plan to 'kill' Vash and quit the company. They then went on to explain they thought it was best to put that plan on hold. If they were going to find him, they'd need whatever resources Bernardelli could offer. So instead, they'd reported the truth: they'd lost him again.

"This is strange," Meryl mumbled, her slender brows creasing over her eyes.

"What is it, Sempai?" Millie stood behind Meryl so that she could read over her shoulder.

"It says that our mission to locate and contain Vash the Stampede has been moved up to the company's top priority. We are to be given every resource available, and the limit on our traveling expenses has been lifted. Any and all expenditures in the pursuit of Vash the Stampede are to be paid in full by the Bernardelli Insurance Society. We are instructed to dispatch a first-class telegram to headquarters as soon as we make contact with the subject. And, under no circumstances are we to lose contact with the subject once found, upon pain of termination..."

Wolfwood had risen from his chair, and now snatched the company directive from Meryl's hand. He ignored her growl of protest as he read the letter. "I don't like this."

"Am I missing something?" Millie asked. "Why are you two so serious all of the sudden?"

"It just doesn't make any sense, Millie. Why does the company suddenly want him found so badly? Even at the height of his destruction, Bernardelli never gave our mission the status of 'top priority'. And the last incidence of damage with his confirmed involvement was back in LR Town. So, why all of the sudden do we have limitless resources and funds?" Meryl paced around uneasily, her mind obviously working over the possibilities. "I don't know what this means, but for once, I agree with Wolfwood: I don't like it."

As if on cue, the music on the satellite cut out and an announcer began speaking. Millie rushed over to turn it up.

"_Sorry to interrupt your regularly scheduled musical programming, but we have a special announcement: Ahem! Attention all bounty hunters and would-be treasure-seekers alike, the One That Got Away, the biggest bounty in Gunsmoke history, has just had his head put back on the chopping block! That's right, the Federal Government has reissued a bounty for, the Humanoid Typhoon, the Destroyer of Cities: Vash the Stampede! And this time it's a whopping two-hundred billion double-dollars!"_

"WHAT!?" Meryl shrieked.

"Bullshit!" Wolfwood gaped. "They don't even have that much money in the treasury!"

"Shhhh!" Millie and her mother both hissed, their attention focused on the satellite receiver. Though Elinor did manage a smack to the back of Wolfwood's head in response to his profanity.

"_Now, the Feds would like you to know that despite reports of pacifism, this Localized Disaster is extremely dangerous, and capture should only be attempted by seasoned professionals... Yeah, right! Like that's ever stopped any of you before? And please note: this bounty is good only if you bring him in alive! That's right, if you kill him, you won't see a red c-cent. You know, this humble broadcaster almost feels sorry for the guy. With wanted posters being distributed like confetti as we speak, there soon won't be a corner of the planet where he can hide. Well, happy hunting, y'all! We'll now return you to our regularly scheduled broadcast."_

"Sempai?"

Meryl had a hand clutched to her chest, and she was having a hard time with the simple act of breathing. "This is not good. This is so not good."

"For once, I agree with the short girl." Wolfwood habitually patted his pockets for cigarettes, even though Elinor would do more than just smack him upside the head if he even thought about lighting up inside.

"I don't think this is a coincidence. Do you, Sempai?" Millie asked, pressing her lips together in a thoughtful line.

"No, Millie," she said, regaining her composure and setting herself on the problem at hand. "There's no way it's a coincidence."

"You two have worked for Bernardelli for years, right?" Wolfwood asked. "What do you know about their involvement with the Feds?"

"The Bernardelli Insurance Society has been in existence nearly as long as the Federation itself," Meryl supplied. "I know there are lines of communication between the two institutions, especially regarding factors that could potentially cause extensive damage."

"Well, our Mr. Vash certainly fits that bill, doesn't he?"

"That he does," Wolfwood agreed, "but that brings us back to our first question: why are they so hot to get there hands on him suddenly, considering he's all but disappeared?"

They looked around at each other for a long moment, no one really having a good answer. "Well, we have to do something," Meryl reasoned, "I'm going to write to Karen, and see if she can dig up any more information at headquarters."

"Karen?" Wolfwood asked with his usual suspicion. "You trust this woman?"

"Absolutely!" the insurance girls answered simultaneously.

"Well, okay then." Wolfwood put up both his hands and backed away from the women, heading out the door for a much needed smoke.

"Meryl?" Millie put her hand on her partner's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'll be fine, Millie..." Meryl tightened her fist until she could feel her fingernails digging into the palm, "...just as long as we find him first."

* * *

On their way to New Oregon, it had been necessary to stop for supplies. Knives had adamantly refused to walk with Vash to the center of town, where all of the stores could be found. Sensing his brother's growing anxiety, and not wanting to push him too quickly, Vash had left him with the seemingly benign task of recharging the truck's fuel cells. The fueling station was closer to the edge of town, and there were certainly less people there than there would be near the main street's shops. All Knives had to do was refuel, pay, and sit tight. Simple, right? 

However, when Vash returned to the fueling station, Knives and their truck were gone. He felt a flutter of panic, part of him searching the ground for fresh corpses, before his brother's voice entered his thoughts.

"_Nervous, Vash?"_ Though he was nearly an ile away, Vash could practically see the smug grin on his twin's face. _ "I wouldn't abandon you. We do, after all, have an arrangement."_

Vash turned, noticing a few people staring at his sour expression as he blinked into space. He began walking in the direction he could sense Knives had gone. _"Are you coming back for me, or what?"_

"_There you go, getting shirty again,"_ Knives chided, his amusement at Vash's irritation apparent. _"I'll be there in five minutes... If you're nice, I might even slow the truck down enough for you to jump in."_

Vash chuckled despite himself, _"Since when do you have a sense of humor? I was starting to think you'd had it surgically removed."_

"_Yes, well, I'd forgotten what it was like to have my own personal fool. You're quite entertaining, brother."_

"_Why you gotta be so cold, Knives?" _ Vash whined, squinting against the sun, and spotting the truck as it turned onto the street where he stood.

Knives pulled up next to Vash and leaned across the seat, pushing open the passenger side door. "Get in."

He'd barely gotten his feet inside before Knives slammed on the gas, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. "Whoa, you late for something?"

"I'm simply eager to be as far away from those creatures as possible. You're lucky I didn't make you walk to the edge of town."

It was apparent to Vash, from Knives' tone, that his brother's sense of humor had once again gone missing. Well, it had been nice while it lasted, he consoled himself. He'd get there with Knives, he just had to be patient. "So," he started conversationally, "I take it you managed to charge the fuel cells without killing anyone?"

"Barely," Knives grumbled. "I feel like my skin is crawling. What the hell took you so long, anyway?"

"Come on now, bro... You hungry? I got some donuts..." Vash enticed, putting the only hand he had into the paper bag in his lap. He immediately shoved a whole donut into his mouth, then returned to the bag for a second, which he waved under his brother's nose.

"No." Knives pushed away his brother's hand and the pastry it held. "And if you ever call me 'bro' again, I will cut off your head."

"Hey, now! There's that sense of humor!" Vash grinned broadly, crumbs sticking to his face.

Knives turned his head to regard him dispassionately, "Who said I was joking?"

_Hn. So that's how it's gonna be?_ "Okay, bro_ther_." Vash forced a smile. "Would you care for a donut?"

"No, brother," Knives replied, sarcasm thick, "I don't think I would."

"Well, brother," Vash shot back, his grin turning slightly evil, "have you ever had a donut?"

"No, brother," Knives said through teeth that were now fiercely clenched, "I don't believe I have."

"WHAT!?" Vash leaned across the seat towards him, the brothers' battle of temper and wit instantly forgotten. "You're kidding me, right? You have to have one! Right now!"

"No, Vash! Leave me the hell alone, would you?" Knives scooted closer to his door, sorely disappointed that the truck had a bench seat, and therefore Vash was free to slide all the way down in his attempts to force-feed him junk-food.

"Knives, I'm telling you now: you're not going to win this one," Vash said, his face the perfect imitation of solemn resolve. "Either you eat this donut, or you pull over and we have our death-match now."

"Oh, for the love of... Give me that!" Knives plucked the partially mashed donut from Vash's hand, deciding that he'd rather eat sand than deal with Vash for another second.

Vash watched with eager anticipation as Knives took a bite. "Well?"

Knives rolled his eyes, and then looked at the pastry in surprise. "You know, this is actually... Huh. These are really good."

"See? What did I tell you?... Hey, wait a minute!" Knives had finished the donut and swiftly snatched the bag from Vash's lap. He attempted to get it back, but Knives held the bag out the window in his outstretched left hand. The right hand was helping him to eat the second donut, while his knees had taken over the responsibility of driving. "Dammit, Knives! Sharing is caring!"

Knives had to work very hard to suppress a laugh as he tossed the bag back to Vash. "God! You're such a whiny brat." He returned his left hand to the steering wheel, while using the right to retrieve his third donut. "'_Sharing is caring'_? Really, Vash."

"Well, it is," Vash pouted, his bottom lip sticking out as he nibbled the edge of a donut. "Well, at least we found something you like about humanity."

"I hardly think baked goods are reason enough for their continued existence."

"Yeah, I know," Vash conceded, a smile forming on his lips, "but it's a start."

Knives merely growled in response, flipping on the satellite, and mumbling something where the only word Vash caught was 'jackass'.

"_...biggest bounty in Gunsmoke history, has just had his head put back on the chopping block!..."_

"Knives." Vash felt his blood run cold. "Turn that up."

"Yeah, I hear it," Knives said quietly, his expression darkening as he reached for the volume.

"_...Federal Government has reissued a bounty for, the Humanoid Typhoon, the Destroyer of Cities: Vash the Stampede! And this time it's a whopping two-hundred billion double-dollars!..."_

Knives stopped the truck, and the brothers sat frozen as they listened to the rest of the broadcast. Finally, when it was over and music began playing again, Knives spoke up: "Crap."

"Double crap," Vash agreed breathlessly.

They looked a each other for a long, silent beat. For a moment, Knives was sure that Vash understood the gravity of the situation, and that for once, he was going to be serious. That was, of course, before Vash launched into an epic bout of whining: "Oh, man! Why is it always me? I haven't even blown anything up lately!"

"Vash, would you kindly shut the fuck up so that I can think!?" Knives massaged his temples, trying to decide how best to deal with this latest stumbling block. "This is very disquieting. Why does the Federal Government want you so badly?"

"Because I destroyed July and Augusta? Dammit! I can't take this anymore!" Vash whined, somewhat pitifully.

"No, Vash," Knives impatiently reasoned. "If that was the reason why, they would have issued the bounty when said events occurred. Not years later."

"Hey, don't worry." Vash noticed his brother's anxiety and tried to smile reassuringly. "Remember, I have a lot of practice living with a bounty on my head."

"Not like this, Vash!" Knives yelled, what little patience he'd actually maintained being quickly spent. "This is fucking serious, and I'd appreciate it if you would treat it as such!"

"No, you're right," Vash said thoughtfully. "This is different than the last time, but until we get some more information, there really isn't much we can do about it."

"We're turning around and going back to the SEEDs ship!" Knives insisted. "Logistically speaking, it's the safest and most reasonable course of action."

"We're not going to run away from this!" Vash shouted back. "I'm not going to end up like you, locked away from the world in some fortress of solitude, getting pastier and more antisocial by the hour! We are going to New Oregon, as planned, and that is absolutely final!"

Vash had regretted his words almost immediately after he'd spoken them, as he was sure they would throw Knives into a rage. His brother surprised him by not only refraining from screaming and/or violence, but by responding with a grin. However, Vash was very familiar with that particular grin, and it hardly meant anything good.

"So, you're quite sure about this, then?" Knives asked.

"Yes, I am," Vash tried to sound resolute, but Knives' reaction was making him terribly nervous.

"Well, okay then," Knives said, sounding practically chipper.

He got out of the truck and walked around to where his bag was stored in the back. Soon, Vash could hear him rustling through it, and craned his neck to try and see what he was looking for. "Um, Knives? What are you doing?"

Knives didn't answer, but, after finding whatever it was he wanted, walked around to Vash's side of the truck, jerking the door open. Vash looked down to see him holding a straight-razor. "Just remember, Vash," Knives grinned maniacally, "you've no one to blame for this but yourself."


	9. Patience Makes Perfect

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/a French cruller  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last Time: Knives had a deeply symbolic nightmare-- pay attention, kids, because it will be the subject of a short essay on the exam: "Please describe how Biblical symbolism relates to Knives being a crack-pot. Bonus credit for discussing the geo-political ramifications of vivisection." Also, we learned that Vash was, at one time, Karaoke King of Providence City (there might have to be a one-shot about that), though Knives didn't seem to appreciate his rendition of the Trigun end-theme. (Yes, _that's _what he was singing.) Elisabeth and Lina are back, and Lina is a genius and has a kid! Huzzah! And now, spooky scientist-types are having secret meetings about Vash and Knives. Could get crazy... Meanwhile, back at the farm, Wolfwood's thoughts became introspective, covering topics of morality and redemption. Just as quickly, his thoughts became naughty, covering topics of... well, maybe we should just leave that up to the imagination. A letter arrived for the girls and everyone puzzled over why the company was suddenly so hot for them to locate Vash. That is, until, a conveniently timed satellite broadcast let them know that the bounty on Vash had been reinstated and raised: $$200 billion! I heard a rumor that even Spike, Jet, and Faye are considering taking a shot at it. (Just kidding-- no "Tainted Donut" crossovers.) Back in the desert, we learned that a love of round, glazed baked goods is hereditary. Vash and Knives then heard the same broadcast that had everyone's knickers in a twist back in September. Knives reacted with a modified version of the Monty Python battle-cry: "Run Away!" Vash, however, was resolved to face the danger head on. With a maniacal gleam in his eye, Knives brandished a straight-razor, leading many readers to beg me not to cut Vash's hair. (Incidentally, Vash is crying in his room, claiming that everyone loves his hair more than him. I tried to tell him that it wasn't true. "They like your hot bod, too," I consoled. But that only made him cry harder. Wonder why...) Little do the readers know, however, that Knives merely wants to reenact the knife-fight-dance from Michael Jackson's "Bad" video... maybe.

**A/N: **I was overwhelmed by the response to chapter eight. I got so many reviews! Seriously, I felt like the most popular girl at the dance. I'm so happy, I could squee. Thank you so very much. This chapter is ridiculously long, just like the previous one. I think the depth and length of reviews should be proportional to the length and depth of the chapter, don't you?... I kid, I kid! Reviews are like literary brownies: just as rewarding with none of the calories. And I will take them in whatever length and depth I can get them. By the way, have you all heard of these two chicks, Alaena Night and Sugar Pill? Super-fanfiction-wonder-beta-twins! I've long-suspected that they were no mere mortals, but I had no idea they were actually cats. _Nyah?_

* * *

**Chapter 9: Patience Makes Perfect**

* * *

Vash pulled the truck to a slow stop outside of the New Oregon Saloon, hesitating before he cut the engine. It was fairly early in the evening, but he had hoped to arrive sooner. Already there was a constant flicker of motion passing by the bar's lit windows, the hum and swing of the crowd inside coming to life. His anxiety became a palpable pressure on his chest. He focused his awareness to the muscles in his back and shoulders, willing the tension to leak away. He could feel Knives' apprehension, a threatening cloud between them, and didn't want to add his own nervous energy to the growing storm. 

Vash forced a smile to curl his lips. It came easily after so many years of practice. Still, he could tell that Knives wasn't convinced. He glowered at Vash, a look that seemed to tell him not to bother with the false gesture of confidence.

"Knives," Vash sighed, the smile melting, "it won't be that bad."

In response, Knives chewed more vigorously at his thumbnail, pausing to spit through the truck's open window. His dark eyes stared at the swinging doors of the saloon, watching as a group of men entered. They were laughing, talking loudly, obviously already drunk. Knives' expression was stoic. The only sign of reaction was a nearly imperceptible twitch in his jaw, and a slight tension in his shoulders that Vash sensed rather than saw.

Initially, Vash had agreed with the Doc's idea that he and Knives should meet with Max before venturing onto the ship. The SEEDs craft had crashed a few years ago, forcibly removing its residents from the isolation they'd enjoyed before that point. Most had resettled in New Oregon, doing their best to embrace their new existence on the surface of the dusty planet. Still, among those who continued to live within the ship, there existed the residual fear of Outsiders and an intense territoriality. It seemed they still clung to the idea that the utopia they'd once enjoyed could somehow be prolonged.

The meeting with Max Simon in New Oregon was meant as an opportunity to touch base. To ensure that the residents of the SEEDs ship had been prepared for Vash's return, as well as the introduction of Knives. Aside from the Doc and Max, no one in New Oregon knew the atrocities that Knives had committed. And Vash was supremely grateful for that. As high as his regard was for the people of New Oregon, he'd hardly expect less than a lynch mob if they knew who Knives really was. It would be impossible, however, to pass Knives off as anything other than Vash's brother, and the people on the SEEDs ship knew that Vash was a plant. Many had always been wary of that fact. And considering that the last time Vash had come to call the ship had crashed, introducing them to another plant, one they didn't know... well, the scenario did have the distinct possibility of going, ah... awry.

So, it made perfect sense to meet with Max before knocking on the door of the SEEDs ship to pay the folks a visit. At least, it did in theory. Vash was currently cursing Max's choice of a meeting location. There were probably more people in this saloon than at any other single location in town. And Knives' body language (not to mention his purposeful silence) was telling Vash that this might be too big of a step for his brother.

Still, there's no trial like trial by fire.

Vash took a breath, preparing to tell Knives it was time to go, but his brother spoke first, "I 'm not going."

_Well, I can see this is already going well. _"Knives, don't start this. You know you have to go. If I have to go: you have to go."

Knives' head spun, his eyes an angry flash. "What do you mean, if _you_ have to go? This was your stupid idea!"

"Yes, well," Vash adjusted the rear view mirror, appraising his own reflection, "I don't want to go in there looking like _this."_

"I think it's a marked improvement," Knives said snobbishly.

"I look like a jerk!" Vash complained, brushing his palm over his newly cropped hair.

"You look like me!"

"Exactly!"

Knives cast him an irritated scowl, and Vash smiled inwardly. It really wasn't a bad haircut. Especially considering that Knives had managed to do it with only a straight razor. But, Vash supposed, if you've been giving yourself the same haircut for over a hundred years, you should be able to do it on somebody else with your eyes closed. Vash kind of liked it. Fond as he was of his previous hairstyle, this one kept his head cooler and it didn't fall in his eyes. But, for now, he let Knives believe he hated it, because quibbling with him was distracting Knives from how nervous he was about going into that bar.

"Those stupid spikes were as blatant as the damnable red coat!" Knives argued for what felt like the hundredth time. "You've got to be the only moron who would go out of the way to as conspicuous and easily identifiable as conceivably possible when the whole world is hunting you down!"

Vash had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "Hey, brother?" he asked, pensively regarding his reflection.

"What?" Knives said, arms now crossed in displeasure.

"Does this haircut make me look like a homicidal maniac?"

Knives took a swing at the back of Vash's head, but his twin ducked it easily, slipping from the truck as he opened the door. "Come on, Knives," Vash grinned. "We're gonna miss happy hour!"

Vash said a silent prayer and walked straight toward the swinging doors. He didn't turn to look back at Knives, but a moment later he heard a crunch as his brother's feet landed in the sand. By the time he pushed one of the double doors aside, he could feel Knives' breath on his neck.

The last time Knives had been in a place like this, he'd still been collecting Gung-ho Guns. That had actually been quite amusing, seeing as every patron had ended up dead, slaughtered by Midvalley the Hornfreak.

He figured the chance of a repeat performance was slim to nil, firstly because Midvalley was dead, and secondly because Vash was running this particular show. Furious as he was at Vash for having brought him here, Knives found himself following his brother as closely as possible as he made his way through the growing crowd of drunks. There was less chance of someone accidentally brushing against him if he used Vash as a shield.

"Excuse me," a woman said, smiling briefly, and placing a hand between Knives' shoulder blades as she moved past him.

At the contact, Knives shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. Another human pushed past him on his way to the bar, arm nudging his shoulder as the man called out his drink order. All too quickly, Knives found himself separated from Vash. _Damn! Where'd he go? _He scanned the crowd, the room was suddenly too small. Knives felt he was suffocating in the very stink and sweat of the bodies that pushed and pulsed around him.

It took a great deal of will to clip the rage he felt building to a manageable burn. It wouldn't do to lose his cool now and ruin the arrangement he'd made with Vash. Knives closed his eyes. Maybe if he didn't have to look at them.

He could do this. _I agreed to five years, which leaves me four years, eleven months, one week, four days and probably about three hours... _

"Oof!" Knives' eyes flew open at the sound, finding its source to be a rather unsavory looking human who'd collided with Knives' very solid shoulder. The drink the insect had been holding was now decorating the front of its shirt.

"Hey, fucker! Watch where you're going!"

Knives blinked at the filthy, drunken human staring into his face. He was confused for a moment. Was this vermin addressing him?

"Yeah! You, asshole. 'The fuck's your problem?"

Yes, it was in fact talking to him. And, it had called him a 'fucker' and an 'asshole'.

Knives closed his eyes again, willed his thrumming pulse to slow, his trembling fist to unclench. _Don't kill it,_ he told the demon inside, _the satisfaction is not worth the cost._ Noble Vash was plant of his word. He agreed to their arrangement because he believed (still believes) that he could change his brother's mind about the supposed value of the human race. _But when he fails to 'save' me, he'll have no choice but to honor his end of the bargain. _Knives grinned automatically. In less than five years, with Vash at his side, he'd be free to kill every stinking, ugly, rotten-toothed piece of human trash on this planet. Including, _this _maggot, who was working very hard at dissolving Knives' self-control. _Don't kill it,_ he told the source of rage inside him once more, _soon enough they will all be dead._

"What the hell are you smiling about, shithead?"

Knives took a low breath, let it out softly. He attempted to address the human calmly: "Go. Away."

Vash read his brother's lips as he pushed his way down the bar. He could tell that each word was an agony of measured control as it passed over Knives' tongue. Vash had precious little time to intervene.

Despite the insistent knowledge that he had to get to Knives as quickly as possible, Vash was able to wonder a moment at how easily the understanding of his sibling came to him. They'd been apart for the majority of their lives, and yet within just a few days of being near him, Vash found himself falling into the old pattern of _knowing. _He found that his mind naturally picked up on Knives' posture, the movement of his mouth as he spoke. He noted the intensity and mood of his gaze, even as he only saw it in profile, registered the flex and release of muscle from hairline to hip. An uncountable number of minutiae betrayed to Vash every aspect of his twin's mood and thoughts. He would have known him as well as he knew himself, even if they didn't share an empathic bond.

Vash felt a touch of rage at the drunk antagonizing Knives. For a moment he wondered if the feeling belonged to him, or if it had originated in his brother. No. It was his own. Vash had wanted Knives' reintroduction to the human race to be marked by kindness and understanding. _Delicate. _Their sisters had told him that Knives was delicate, and Vash saw it now. Saw it in how Knives was barely able to contain his rage, though Vash was certain he was giving it his full effort. He saw uncertainty in Knives, perhaps fear as well. Not fear of what the man would do to him, but of what he would do to the man. Not afraid for the pain he could inflict, but afraid that he would inflict it and the choice would not be his. Knives was about to lose control, and that terrified him.

_Damn._ It wasn't supposed to start like this. Knives' first encounter with a human was not meant to be a confrontation. _You know, I leave him alone for three minutes... _Vash wondered briefly if bad luck and poor timing were somehow hereditary. The curse of free-born plants.

If the man in front of Knives had been marginally sober, he might have sensed the danger. He should have seen it in the eyes of the tall blond when they finally turned on him. But through a fog of liquid courage, and a history of successful barroom brawls bolstering his confidence, this man took another step towards Knives. A gesture he meant to be quite menacing. And that action, moving within half a pace of Knives, was nearly the last thing he ever did. Fortunately for this man, the tall blond had a brother.

With a final shove, Vash placed himself between Knives and the drunk. Even with his back to his twin, Vash could sense the small release of tension, the nearly grateful relief. Vash smiled broadly at the drunk, placed a gentle hand on his arm. "Listen, friend. You're gonna want to back off. Like, right now."

Still not understanding his peril, perhaps misinterpreting Vash's gentle tone as weakness, the man sneered, said: "Fucking one-armed, crippled piece of shit!" He pulled back his fist, and Vash watched its path as if in slow motion. _Why does it always come to violence? _Vash caught the fist in the middle of its forward swing, turned his hand so the fist twisted, as did the wrist and arm it was attached to. Two deft steps and a spin, and Vash had the man's arm levered behind his back. He put a little pressure on the elbow, not enough to really hurt him, just enough to keep him gentle and to make him aware of the strength behind the hand that held him in place.

"I tried to tell you." Vash's voice was tired. He was angry, which was a feeling he wasn't comfortable with. This man, trying to be a tough-guy, for no reason but to feed his own ego, had nearly ruined everything. Vash put a little more pressure on the trapped arm, made sure his voice was suitably commanding as he spoke, "Now, you stay the hell away from my brother."

Vash released the man, who spun and backed away, nearly losing his balance. Vash glared hard at the drunk who now blinked at him in confusion. Stunned into a state of temporary sobriety, the man touched his arm where Vash had twisted it, wondering over the quiet strength that had rendered him so helpless. He looked up and past Vash's shoulder, where his eyes would find Knives' face. Whatever he saw there dispelled any fight remaining in the man. Vash understood the look on his face: the drunk had finally realized how close he'd come to death.

Sobered and frightened, the man backed away until he could turn into the crowd. Vash watched the back of his head work its way toward the exit until it disappeared.

Knives was surprised at how grateful and relieved he felt. He was shaken, feeling the tremor and discomfort in his muscles. The stunning revelation was that he'd never before been required to reign in his temper. In the past, he'd never had to stop to think. He'd just reacted, and no one had been left in his wake to stir a question of the action. How was it that this had never occurred to him? But there was the truth, finally laid out in perfect clarity: Knives's impulse control was just barely under his command. If Vash hadn't stepped in when he had, Knives wouldn't have been able to help himself. He would have killed every man, woman, and child within striking distance.

There was no question; it was simple fact. Knives would not have grieved a single life, in fact he probably would have enjoyed the slaughter. That wasn't the point, though. The point was that he wouldn't have had a choice in the matter. _That_ unnerved him.

Knives followed Vash's gaze, watched the drunk waver and disappear through the swell and throb of the crowd. Such insignificance. A single ant, indistinguishable from the colony, not even worthy of his notice, and yet... he'd almost thrown everything away for a chance to destroy that man. What a waste it would have been. Beneath him. And yet he would have been powerless to stop it.

Knives watched Vash's back as his shoulders relaxed, knew that he was going to turn around to face him. He was already angry, an anticipation of Vash's reaction. He was ready to meet a scowl, Vash's self-righteous indignation. Vash, patron saint of God's biggest mistake. With the new knowledge of his own limitations, Knives found he'd developed a grudging respect for Vash's patience. He'd been angry with the drunk, and yet he'd been perfectly controlled. His movements, the tenor of his voice, had all been precise.

It was irritating, infuriating. _Don't you dare glare at me, Vash. Worse, don't you dare fucking smile. _Actually, with the turmoil inside him at that moment, any expression Vash offered was just about guaranteed to set Knives off.

Vash turned, his eyes a soft apology, and Knives realized there was one response he wasn't prepared for: "Knives, I'm so sorry."

Knives blinked once, stilled his body and expression to prevent any betrayal of feeling or thought. Vash was... sorry?

Vash stepped closer, blocked off any intrusion from the people around them. He placed his one hand protectively on Knives' shoulder. "You okay? This is my fault. This was a really bad idea. I never should have put you in a position like that, and I really am sorry, and if you wanna just leave... we should probably just leave. C'mon, let's go."

"Vash!" Knives stiffened as Vash tried to lead him toward the exit. The bark of his voice sent Vash's eyes darting backward, as he released his grip on Knives' arm. He paused, the befuddled questioning of his expression becoming a rolling sensation of nostalgia as Knives took it in. He smirked, said: "You used to look at me like that all the time. Like you didn't know your ass from your elbow."

Vash only blinked quizzically, his expression still deceptively innocent. He was waiting, Knives realized, carefully gauging Knives' reaction before venturing a response. God, but Vash was easy to read. And Knives realized the same was true of him, at least where Vash was concerned. Knives went over his own posture, knew that Vash was responding to his stillness. Waiting. Vash was waiting for a cue, a decision.

_That dumb bastard! _He really was sorry. And not because Knives had nearly murdered a room full of people (which Knives was certain Vash was perfectly aware of). No, Vash was honestly and sincerely sorry for having put his brother in a situation that would cause him such distress. That the limits of Knives' control had been bent to breaking. That he'd been made to endure an impotent rage as a human violated his personal space. Vash was even worried about him, about how he was feeling.

"Oh, fuck you, Vash. Stop looking at me like that." Knives turned his back to him, began scanning the room for a more strategically favorable position. He spotted a table, miraculously empty, its previous occupants just rising to leave. It was close enough to the door, had room on two sides for easy exit, but was not in the course of the main bar traffic, buffered on one side by a partial wall. Knives twisted gingerly between patrons, staking a claim on the table by throwing himself into one of its chairs.

Vash could only follow dumbly. He'd been so sure that Knives would jump at the offer to leave. He hesitated, standing in front of the table as Knives sat. "Um, I thought..."

"Wrong," Knives interrupted. "I don't need your protection. I don't want your apology. You thought wrong." Knives leaned back in the chair, dusted imagined filth from his sleeve with a flick of the wrist that managed to be both regal and casually thoughtless. He quirked an eyebrow at Vash, who continued to stand dumbfounded by the edge of the table. "What, Vash?"

Vash swallowed, shook himself of his stupor. "Uh... You want something to drink?"

Knives frowned, "Yes... but I don't want to drink it out of the same glasses that _they _use."

Vash rolled his eyes."They wash the glasses, Knives! Besides, alcohol is naturally antiseptic, right?"

"Get me a double." Knives gave Vash a dismissive little smirk, stretching his legs out beneath the table.

Vash allowed himself to smile as he turned away from his brother. He could feel he'd just won a major victory. He wasn't sure how or why, but somehow Knives' encounter with the drunk had been important. And something about the way Knives interpreted Vash's apology was important, as well. Anyway, Knives was acting so frigging elitist and self-important, Vash figured he had to have one up on his twin. It was one of the ways Knives had always consoled himself when he'd been proven wrong. Vash rolled his eyes as he thought of it, accepting two glasses (which was no easy feat with one arm) from the bartender. Knives could be such a child.

Returning to their table, Vash noticed a slight tension to Knives, and tried to follow his gaze as he set down the drink. "What's the matter now?"

"I'm being stared at," Knives growled, "by that blond woman."

"Hey, where?" Vash asked excitedly. "Maybe she thinks you're cute..." Vash's voice died in his throat as he spotted the girl Knives had been talking about. He quickly turned his head away. _Wouldn't it just figure? _"Not good."

"What? What's the matter?" Knives' tension increased to the beginnings of alarm. "She's coming over here. Dammit, Vash! Do you know every human on the planet?"

"Hi there, ace gunman. Long time, no see." The tall blond stood in front of them, resting her hand on her hip, just next to her gun, Vash noted. She wore pants and a vest under a worn leather duster, a dull, metal star on her chest marking her as Sheriff. Her eyes were warm, but keen. They flitted over Vash, and quickly moved over to assess his companion. "Didn't know you had a twin, Vash."

"Wow, Marianne! How could you tell?" Vash laughed, his eyes all but disappearing into his smile.

The Sheriff looked from Vash to the man sitting next to him, a near perfect mirror image. She fixed Vash with a pointed glare. Vash laughed again, brought his hand to the back of his neck. "Guess it's kind of obvious, huh?"

Vash's brother sighed heavily, flashed him a look intended to let him know just how stupid he thought he was. He took a deep gulp from the double rocks and whiskey in front of him, his eyes falling on Marianne. Instantly, she felt disquieted, her gun hand itching on her hip. She resisted the urge to move it to the butt of her weapon, letting her eyes settle on the man.

He really did look remarkably like Vash. From across the room, she'd mistaken him for his brother. But there was a coldness to his posture, a silent aggression in his eyes, that let her know she would never make that mistake again. She tore her gaze from the stranger, turning back to the more familiar, and friendlier, of the brothers. "So... you still playing at being Vash the Stampede?"

Marianne's tone was carefully teasing, but Vash noticed that Knives' face held a touch of surprise and alarm. '_What does she know?' _his eyes asked. Vash knew that after their last meeting, Marianne most likely had little doubt that he was the one and only Humanoid Typhoon, but the way she questioned him suggested she was still willing to play dumb. If he handled the situation correctly, he could diffuse it before Knives did something foolish. He laughed, made it genuine and only slightly exaggerated. "No way, young lady! You hear they got a bounty on that guy again? I'd have to be crazy to keep pretending I was him, don't you think?"

"Yeah," Marianne agreed, her smile knowing, but soft, "totally nuts."

Vash stood quickly, remembering his manners, offered her a chair. "So, you're Sheriff now, huh?"

Marianne sat, crossed her ankle over her knee. "Yes, I am. It's a good thing you aren't really Vash the Stampede, or else I'd be bound by duty to arrest you." She looked meaningfully at Vash. It didn't take telepathy to catch her implication: _Don't start anything in my town._

"Well, that is a good thing then." He returned her gaze, and she understood: _Don't worry. I'll be sure to behave._

"So, Vash," Marianne redirected her attention to Knives, who had barely twitched a muscle throughout the exchange, "you going to introduce me?"

"Um, yeah," Vash laughed nervously, shot an unreadable look at his twin. "Sorry. This is my brother, ah... Ashley. Uh, Ash, this is Miss Marianne... er, I mean, Sheriff Cayzen."

Marianne noted that at the mention of his name, 'Ashley' gave his brother a look that could peel paint. _What the hell are you hiding this time, Vash? _She cleared her throat, and quirked a suspicious brow. "Vash and Ash, huh? Your mother must have had a sense of humor."

If Knives' eyes had had teeth, they would have bitten Vash's face off. _"Ashley!? What the fuck is the matter with you?"_

Vash tried to keep a neutral expression on his face, something he'd always found difficult to do while having a telepathic argument. _"What? I couldn't tell her your name was 'Knives'! She'd think you were crazy and dangerous!"_

"_I am dangerous."_

"_Yeah, and crazy. Now, just shut up!"_

"_Vash..." _Knives paused. He rolled his neck to the side, eliciting a disturbing series of cracking noises. _"I promised not to harm any humans... I never promised anything about you."_

Marianne watched in silent confusion as the brothers stared at each other. Eventually, Vash scooted a bit farther away from his twin, and noticed that she was still waiting for him to respond. "Huh? Oh, yeah. Sense of humor. Guess she did," he said, and his face became unreadable once more behind an overwhelming grin.

Marianne stood. "Well, it was nice to see you again, Vash. And, _Ash_... it was nice to meet you."

Vash stood with her, responded that it was nice to see her, too. That they'd probably be seeing her around, as they might be staying awhile in New Oregon. But the brother? He didn't even glance at her as she left. Strange. She had the distinct feeling that a whole lot of trouble was headed her way, and that she'd have these two to thank for it.

She liked Vash. He was genuinely kind, had saved her life. Not to mention, he was pretty easy on the eyes. The thought made her blush a bit, which was definitely not becoming of a Sheriff. Besides, he may have been cute, and she might have owed him a great debt for his help with the unscrupulous Mr.Schezar, but he was still Vash the Stampede: a human magnet for misfortune.

Sheriff Marianne Aura Cayzen made her way through the doors, feeling the chill of night air as it touched her face. She sighed heavily and thought, "Yes. I'll be keeping a close eye on them."

* * *

_What will I do if it's him?_

Meryl remained seated, contemplating the same question again, as the rest of the passengers made their way off the bus. _Stop being silly, Meryl. Vash wouldn't be captured so easily. _Reluctantly, she pulled her own pink suitcase from the overhead storage rack and started down the aisle. The missive she'd received from Bernardelli two days prior was clutched in her fist.

_'Special Agents Stryfe and Thompson:_

_'Re: Vash the Stampede_

_'Upon receipt of this letter you are directed to book passage to Kansas, Southern Cornelia._

_'A party of bounty hunters have taken custody of a man whom they claim is Vash the Stampede. You will proceed to the Kansas City Jail where you will be met by the Southern Cornelian resident agent, Russell Plink. Kansas is currently under the jurisdiction of the Federal Cavalry, under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Irwin, pending your identification of the prisoner._

_'We have assured the Lieutenant Colonel of your full cooperation._

_'A full report is expected upon completion of your mission.'_

Meryl reviewed the contents of the letter once more, feeling she was still no closer to fully understanding its implications. It had been signed by Francis Bernardelli himself, the president of the company. That, in and of itself, convinced her totally of the Society's commitment to locating Vash. What was even more disturbing, however, was the involvement of the government. She, Millie, and Wolfwood had suspected that Bernardelli was in league with the Federation, and this confirmed it. But a Lieutenant Colonel?

It was an extremely high-ranking officer to bring in for the simple identification of a bounty. Even a bounty as high as this. And they'd taken command of an entire town. The government wanted Vash _bad_, and the military presence suggested they'd a very good feeling that the man they had in custody was the real thing.

_If it is him, at least then I'd know he was alive, _Meryl thought as she walked down the town's main street toward the jail. _I suppose I could just say it's not him. They'd have to let him go then, wouldn't they?_

Meryl wasn't sure this would be an option, however. Knowing Vash, he'd probably start crying, or shouting, _'Insurance girl!', _the moment he saw her. She felt the beginning itch of anger as she thought of it. Wouldn't it be just like him to get himself into trouble, and then make it as difficult as possible for her to get him out of it? And to let himself get caught before he came back to her, without even sending a letter or anything to let her know he was okay!? _That bum!_

Meryl stopped in front of a medium-sized, square building that looked like it had seen better days. The walls were riddled with sand-erosion and bullet holes. The sign that said, "JAIL" was barely legible.

Meryl felt a swell of apprehension, tried to press it down so it wouldn't show on her face. A Cavalry soldier was stationed at the door. He let her in once she identified herself.

Inside, she was greeted by a round man with glasses who looked to be somewhere in his thirties. He approached her with an enthusiastic gait, causing is considerable girth to bounce with the movement. "Special Agent Stryfe! It is such an honor to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you. You must be Agent Plink." Meryl shook the man's hand. "You know, I hadn't been aware that there was a Bernardelli office in Southern Cornelia."

Agent Plink seemed delighted by her interest. He nodded vigorously, his jowls trembling over the top of his starched collar. "Oh yes! You'll remember there were a series of mysterious disappearances in towns all over this region a few years ago. The Society thought it imperative to establish a base of operations in the interest of risk prevention." He leaned toward her as he added, "You know, many believe the Humanoid Typhoon to be involved, though we've never been able to confirm it."

"I had heard that, yes." Meryl withdrew her hand demurely. "I've also heard that there've been no further incidents in this area. I congratulate you, Agent Plink."

"Thank you! And please call me Russell." He beamed a huge smile that creased his eyes into the round flesh of his face. "You'll have to forgive my enthusiasm. I just can't believe that _the _Meryl Stryfe is here in my town! Everyone in the company talks about your exploits."

Meryl blushed slightly, discomforted by the idea of celebrity. "Um... thank you, Russell. But really, Millie and I are just doing our jobs. It's really not all that exciting..."

"Where is Agent Thompson? I'd been told that you two would be arriving together."

"Ah... well, Millie was unable to make this trip. There was pressing business I needed her to attend to."

In truth, Meryl had left Millie in September. She was expecting a reply from Karen, and told Millie she wanted her to wait for it. Plus, now that the wheat season was over, Millie's father and Wolfwood were in the middle of expanding a separate house on the Thompson property. Previously, it had been reserved for housing seasonal laborers. Now, it would become the new orphanage.

"Stay and help build, Millie," Meryl had told her junior partner. "Besides, with your brother's wedding coming up... you're needed here. There's no point in both of us going. There's no way Vash would get caught, anyway."

It had been mostly true. There was a lot of activity in September that required Millie's help, and Meryl did want someone there to receive any communication from Karen. But it wasn't as if Wolfwood couldn't have handled it on his own. Really, Meryl had a sense that the situation with Vash had gone beyond the limits of the information provided to them. A small part of her felt that by coming to Kansas she was walking into a spider's web. If something happened, at least Millie would be free to keep looking.

It was a stupid thought. What the hell did she think was going to happen? But rereading the missive again and again, she knew this was bigger than the scope of her current understanding. Why did the government want Vash so desperately? Why did they need him alive? How was it connected to Bernardelli? She quoted part of the directive to herself: '_We've assured the Lieutenant Colonel of your full cooperation.'_ Why did it sound like they doubted that the girls would cooperate?

Meryl returned her attention to the present, and Agent Plink, who seemed disappointed. "Ah, well, I suppose it must have been quite important to keep her away..."

His tone suggested he would have liked for her to elaborate on this 'pressing business', but their conversation was interrupted by the approach of a tall young man wearing the military uniform of the Federation. He faced Meryl with the kind of stiff posture that spoke of discipline and training. She watched as he took in her appearance. His voice hinted at uncertainty, "Special Agent Stryfe of the Bernardelli Insurance Society?"

"Yes," Meryl said, extending her hand. "Are you the man in charge?"

"Yes, ma'am. I apologize. I thought..." he hesitated.

"I'd be taller?" Meryl supplied.

He chuckled lightly. "Perhaps, ma'am. You've quite a formidable reputation."

Meryl wondered briefly how he knew of her reputation, then realized that if the Society was aligned with the military, he probably had access to her file. He was young to be of such high rank. That spoke of ambition and resourcefulness, something Meryl understood. He was strikingly handsome, but not in the way Vash was. Vash's looks were nearly perfect in their symmetry and clarity; he was actually kind of 'pretty' (for lack of a better word), something that made him approachable. This man's features held a hard edge, a rugged imperfection that somehow added to their appeal. He smiled, but she noted that it didn't reach his honey-colored eyes.

Meryl instantly distrusted him.

"I'm Lieutenant Colonel Jared Irwin. I've been sent to oversee the transport of the prisoner. This way, please."

Meryl followed him out of the small entry room, deeper into the building. Agent Plink was following close by her shoulder. Meryl was nervous. Something wasn't right about this, and that inkling of a feeling only solidified as they entered the next room.

Meryl took in her surroundings quickly. There were ten Cavalry soldiers standing at attention throughout. She noted a man, who must have been the Sheriff, sitting at a desk. His expression was sour. He most likely resented the Cavalry having taken control over his town. There were five other men in the room, rough-necks that Meryl assumed must have been the bounty hunters. There was a door at the back that she knew would lead to the holding cells. No doubt, that was where they would find the prisoner, and probably more soldiers.

Her mind rolled over the possibilities. This was a very strong government presence. Overkill by any standard. Meryl had worked long enough in the insurance business to recognize a bureaucratic machine at work, but this was over her head. She needed more information, but how much dare she ask?

"I'm curious, Lieutenant Colonel, why is it that the bounty is only good if the Stampede is taken alive?" She did her best to sound casual, and suddenly wished Millie was there: she was so much better at playing dumb.

Meryl thought she saw him stiffen, a moment of discomfort at the question, but it was gone before she could be certain. He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm not at liberty to discuss that. It's just a standard military protocol. You understand, don't you?"

Agent Plink laughed. "Oh, we Bernardelli agents know all about protocol, don't we?"

Meryl smiled, all disarming feminine softness. "Yes, of course."

Seemingly satisfied with her reaction, the Lieutenant Colonel continued walking toward the door that led to the holding cells. "We'll just need you to make a positive identification, and then you can be on your way."

He sounded so certain, and Meryl found herself gripped with terror. It might really be him. They might really have caught him. Meryl suddenly realized how desperately she missed him. That she'd give nearly anything to see his face again. But not here, not like this.

_Don't let it be him. Please God, let them be wrong. _Meryl knew that if she walked into the other room and found Vash there'd be no controlling her reaction. She wouldn't be able to keep the truth of his identity from showing on her face. She found herself wondering how many soldiers were in the other room, how many she'd be able to subdue. It was hopeless. If they really had caught Vash, there'd be no way to save him, but she knew she wouldn't be able to just watch as they dragged him away. Away from her. Again.

"Are you all right, ma'am?" the Lieutenant Colonel asked, pausing at the door that might conceal Vash.

"Yes, fine." She nodded, hoped she sounded more convinced than she felt.

"I've read your field reports," he began carefully. "The way you spoke about the Stampede, it seems you're... ah, fond of him?"

She didn't like his tone. It was nearly insulting, but nothing she could protest outright. She weighed her response carefully. "In my experience with him, I found him to be an honorable man."

"Agent Keele didn't agree with that assessment."

Meryl narrowed her eyes at the name. Bardeaux Keele: the assassin who'd tried to kill Vash under the guise of being a Bernardelli disaster investigator, and had then held a gun to her head. Karen had told her that Keele was ex-military elite. At the time, Meryl had thought he was working independently, involved in an extortion scheme. But the way the Lieutenant Colonel had said "Agent Keele" made her wonder if his military status could accurately be described as 'ex'. Was it possible that Keele had been inserted by the military for the very purpose of eliminating Vash? Irwin had just all but admitted that the military had tried to have Vash killed, but in such a way that she couldn't call him out on it. That was the second time he'd done that: said something insinuating, but not blatant enough for her the name it satisfactorily. _How deep does this go? How far-reaching are the government's plans?_

She forced her expression to go blank. "Bardeaux Keele was not in a position to make an assessment of Mr. Vash's character. If I recall, he wasn't on the job longer than a week before he was arrested for opening fire on a crowded street, as well as for causing Grade C property damage."

"Hmm... of course, ma'am." Irwin smiled smoothly. "You've been assigned to the Humanoid Typhoon for... how many years has it been?"

"Several." Meryl couldn't keep the icy edge from her voice.

The Lieutenant Colonel continued to smile, as if he didn't notice how she bristled. Meryl knew, though, that he had noticed. "I'm sure you must know him _very _well."

That was the third time. This man was very good at being suggestive without being overbold. Meryl was tempted to ask just what he was implying, but knew that confronting him wouldn't be advantageous. If he was trying to get a rise out of her, it would be foolish to jump to the bait. Better to continue the facade of perfect social etiquette. She smiled demurely, said: "My experience in the field puts me in a unique position to be of service to you, sir."

"And the Federation is grateful for your assistance, ma'am." He turned to Agent Plink. "If you'll wait here, Special Agent Stryfe and I will return momentarily."

Plink looked as if he might protest, but the Lieutenant Colonel had already opened the door to the holding cells and was ushering Meryl inside. He didn't allow her to turn her back to him. _He wants to see my immediate reaction,_ Meryl realized. _Oh please, Vash. Don't let it be you._

It was darker back here. Meryl was right about there being more soldiers. There were four more outside of the center cell. She stepped forward, aware of Irwin's gaze. He didn't even try to hide how closely he was watching her.

Meryl peered through the bars, met the eyes of the captive. "That's not him."

There was no surprise in the Lieutenant Colonel's voice as he asked, "You're sure?"

The question was redundant. He knew that Meryl was telling the truth, and that there was no way she would make a mistake. More importantly, Meryl realized, he'd known all along that the man he held in captivity wasn't Vash. _They set this up. They were trying to get a read on me._

Meryl gasped in understanding. Of course. She and Millie had been closer to him than anyone else the government would have access to. Vash was a ghost, a nomad with a knack for disappearing. If they so urgently wanted him in custody, it would make sense for them to use the insurance girls. _This whole thing was a test to discover the nature of our relationship, to see if they'll be able to use us to get close to him._

She turned on the Lieutenant Colonel with new eyes. He'd been watching her this whole time, taking notes, prodding her for reactions. _I can't give him anything more to work with. _As if outside herself, she felt her features relax, her muscles soften as she gently shrugged. "I'm positive, sir. That man isn't Vash the Stampede. I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

"It's quite all right, ma'am. I'm sorry to have troubled you with a false alarm."

Now that she knew his intentions, the Lieutenant Colonel appeared infinitely more condescending and unctuous. Still, Meryl allowed herself to betray nothing of her true feelings. "I only hope this matter with the Stampede will be settled soon. You must understand how tiring it is to try and prevent a localized disaster from causing damage."

Irwin laughed and she smiled sweetly. "I can only imagine, ma'am. But, I assure you we'll have him in custody soon enough."

_Over my cold, dead corpse, you son of a bitch, _Meryl thought, though the smile never left her lips. This man thought to read her like a book, to use her to get at Vash. There was a smugness to him that revealed how certain he was that he'd be able to do just that. But, it wasn't the first time a man had underestimated Meryl Stryfe.

The Lieutenant Colonel and Agent Plink said their goodbyes, and a guard showed Meryl outside. Back on the sandy street, free of the binding formality of politics and protocol, Meryl allowed her hands to bunch into fists. She was sure she'd given something away here today before she'd realized the nature of the game, but she'd learned a great deal as well.

She dragged her suitcase down the street, quickening her pace. A glance at the position of the suns told her that if she hurried, she could catch the bus that would get her back to September in two days time. She needed to talk to Millie and Wolfwood as soon as possible. The military, as well as Bernardelli, would be watching them closely now. Already, Meryl was watching alleys and shadows for someone tailing her.Suddenly, everything had become so much clearer. Unfortunately, the new clarity only allowed her to see how intricate and complicated everything was. Now, she didn't just have to worry about finding Vash; she also had to worry that she'd lead the Cavalry straight to him.

Despite her anxiety, Meryl found herself smiling. A subtle, irrepressible grin that tickled her lips as she dipped her chin, let her hair fall over her eyes. _Stupid Vash, _she thought, _any sane woman would have already realized that you're far more trouble than you're worth._

* * *

Knives hesitated before the bulb. He had asked to be shown down here, felt it was imperative that he talk with both of his sisters still living on this ship. There used to be four, but two had been killed. It had been his fault. He had to say something to the survivors, but nothing he could think of seemed sufficient. 

He and Vash had waited three more hours at that saloon for what amounted to a ten minute conversation with Max Simon. The human had appraised him gruffly, but not disrespectfully. He was all business, that one. Told them that everything was set, and had them out the door and on the way to the SEEDs ship in nearly the same breath.

Vash had been timidly apprehensive, afraid that no one on the ship would want him back after what had happened last time. Knives thought it was somewhat odd that Vash wasn't angry with him. After all, if these humans rejected him, it was because of actions that Knives had set into motion. Leonof the Puppet-master. Gray the Ninelives. Hoppered the Gauntlet. His Gung-ho Guns had been thorough in their destruction. A little too thorough. It was lucky for them that they'd gotten themselves killed in the process, because they _really_ wouldn't have wanted to be around when Knives learned that two of his sisters had died. Legato had suffered for that mistake. But...

"_It was my fault. I don't know what to say to you."_

Knives closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the glass. Whenever he was near a bulb, it seemed he felt this overwhelming desire to be closer. It was if his sisters sang a silent siren's song, calling him home. But it was never close enough. He was always left with a hollow feeling inside, an unnameable discontent made sharper by the proximity to that which he couldn't truly be a part of.

He sensed the plant angel, prayed silently for her response. A sudden fear of rejection gripped at his heart. He wondered if it was similar to what Vash had felt, thinking these humans would hate him now.

"_It's exactly the same. But I can't hate you, brother. Just like the humans don't hate Vash."_

Knives sighed in relief at her response, the warm tone. Still, he contended with her appraisal. _"Don't draw comparisons. The humans are nothing like us."_

"_Oh, but they are. I wish that you could feel the buzz on this ship, brother." _ Her voice was full of bubbling, childish excitement as she spoke in his mind. _"Everyone is so happy that Vash is home!"_

The muscle above Knives' eye twitched. Had every member of his race lost their minds? He would have gotten angry with her, argued, but he remembered that he was there for a reason. He decided to focus on his original purpose: _"I came here to atone, sister. I've wronged you. I... what would you have of me?"_

She floated down from the center of the bulb, her hair soft, writhing tendrils of white-blond. She touched the glass as if to stroke his face, met his blue eyes with her own black, pupilless pair. She smiled, said: _"Take care of Vash."_

Knives frowned in confusion. Vash was currently having his arm put back on. The Doc had offered to let Knives sit in on the procedure, but he'd declined, preferring instead to see his sisters as soon as possible. Vash would be fine, right? _"Take care of Vash? I don't understand."_

His sister continued to smile at him, as if amused by his ignorance, but it wasn't accusing or patronizing. She pushed herself away from the glass, floated back toward the center of the bulb. _"Our brother needs you. Go."_

Knives was left unsatisfied by her response, but he stepped away from the bulb. He followed his sense of Vash's location until he found himself outside of the medical bay where his brother was having a new prosthetic arm attached. The door opened with a soft, mechanical hiss.

Vash was laying on a table, a bright surgical lamp aimed at the stump of his left arm. The Doc was sitting on a stool beside him, magnifying lenses fixed over his glasses. The tableau chilled Knives in its similarities to his last nightmare. He stood frozen at the door.

"Please come inside, Millions," Doc said without looking up. "There's another stool on the far wall. You can sit next to your brother on the other side of the table."

While the Doc didn't appear the least bit surprised by Knives' sudden arrival, Vash seemed slightly dumbfounded. He tipped his head backward, his eyes widening as he took in the upside-down image of his brother. "Whatchya doing here? I thought you were going to see the plants."

Knives shrugged, turned his eyes away from Vash as he picked up the other stool. The Doc was making an incision in the stump of Vash's arm, peeling back a section of skin. "Owwie, owwie, owwie!" Vash shut his eyes, but stayed still.

"I'm sorry, Vash," the Doc apologized, working as gingerly as he could.

"'S okay," Vash whimpered through clenched teeth.

Knives felt an instinctive anger at the sight of someone causing Vash pain. His hands felt impatient and useless as he bunched them into fists on his knees. "Haven't you given him any anesthetic?"

"Unfortunately, I can't," replied the Doc, not looking up from his work. "When I attach the new socket, I have to be sure all of the nerves are properly connected."

Knives looked down at his brother's face, recognized the slow breaths that indicated he was attempting a meditative state. It occurred to Knives that this was the second time Vash had gone through this. With a pang, he also realized that this too, was his fault.

As if aware of Knives' line of thinking, Vash smiled up at him weakly. "It's not so bad, Knives."

_Still smiling, Vash? Why? _ Knives eased the barrier that dulled their empathic bond. He began to feel a bit of the pain his brother was experiencing, but Vash quickly slammed the connection shut. "Don't," Vash said.

So, Vash wanted to protect him from this. Why? If anyone should feel that pain, it should be Knives. "Shut up, Vash," Knives said with irritation, as he forced the connection wide open.

The onslaught of pain made Knives feel faint. He gripped the edge of the table for balance as his head swam. And this was only an echo of what Vash felt! How the hell was Vash even conscious, let alone offering up that phony smile for his brother's benefit? Knives closed his eyes against the assault on his senses, but refused to close off the connection. _ If Vash can handle it, so can I._

Knives opened his eyes as he felt fingers thread through his own. He couldn't tell which of them Vash was trying to comfort by taking his hand. Vash's forehead was beaded with sweat, his breath coming in short puffs as he tried to keep his composure. When Knives didn't withdraw his hand, Vash gripped it more firmly. He put another mental barricade in place, cutting Knives off from the sensation of pain once more. Vash's eyelids fluttered briefly with the effort, and for a moment Knives thought he might pass out.

Knives looked across the table and watched as the Doc carved a hollow into the base of the stump. He dropped the chunk of discarded flesh into a basin on the small table beside him. Knives felt his stomach turn and fought to keep it from showing on his face. Unconsciously, he squeezed his brother's hand, and Vash smiled, weak but genuine, in response.

"You're such an idiot, Vash," Knives said, and was surprised when his words came out tear-choked, without the bite of anger.

Vash's watery smile only persisted. "Thank you, Knives."

Vash blinked dazedly at his twin. Knives could tell he was trying to focus on his face, but his eyes were glazed and his lids kept falling as if weighted. It had to take an incredible amount of restraint to remain still, Knives thought, to keep from crying out. Vash had made a few whimpering noises, but he'd swallowed back the brunt of the agony.

Knives looked across the table again, and locked eyes with the human as he readied the metal socket that would anchor the new arm, allowing Vash to feel and control it as if it was his own. The look the small doctor gave Knives told him that this would be the worst of it. Knives gripped Vash's hand with both of his own and thought, _if he'd done this to me, I never would have forgiven him. _

The Doc twisted the socket into place, and a jagged cry of pain finally tore from Vash's throat.

* * *

**A/N: Part Deux:** Who's Marianne Aura Cayzen, you ask? Or the dubious Mr. Schezar? Please see the second episode of the Trigun anime for answers. Though, you're probably already on top of that. How about Bardeaux Keele? Answer: Trigun Maximum, Volume One, specifically- No. 3: "Girls, Bravo!" Also, the showdown in the SEEDs ship that once hovered peaceably over New Oregon? We're going with the anime version of events: episodes 20 & 21. Um... am I forgetting anyone? Well you know Max and the Doc, yeah? Oh! What about Agent Russell Plink and Lieutenant Colonel Jared Irwin? Well, I kinda made them up. So, no reference material there. 

Additionally: Vash's hair is cut, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it! X-P Relax... it'll grow back. Flame if you must, but I assure you that it had to be done. And at least, he's not bald. Doesn't that make you feel better? Huh?


	10. Set It Off

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/nope, nothing yet  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:**_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last time: Wait! I know this joke: Two blonds walk into a bar... and one of them nearly freaks out and kills everyone in the place... Hmm, that's not much of a punchline, is it? Maybe I'm thinking of that one where a horse walks up to a sake stand? Anyhoo! Thanks to Vash's intervention, crisis was narrowly averted. Though, Knives really wasn't happy about Vash having to come to his rescue (the man's a bit of a control freak), so in the grand sibling tradition of Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Do-Better, he decided to stick around and knock a few back. Vash and Ash ('Ashley' being a pseudonym spontaneously invented by Vash for his brother, because, well, let's face it: how does, 'I'd like for you to meet my brother, Knives,' _really_ sound?) ran into Marianne, who's become Sheriff of New Oregon (I know! What are the chances? Funny how that worked out in a way that was totally coincidental and not at all contrived and/or staged by the author). Meanwhile, Special Agent Scully... _ahem!..._ I mean, Special Agent _Stryfe_ was locked in a cat-and-mouse battle of wits with a high-ranking military official. It would appear that the Federation hopes to use Meryl as a way to locate Vash... yeah, like she's gonna let _that_ happened. Those military boys picked the wrong girl to mess with. Meryl had some questions answered, but a whole lot more were brought up. Why _is_ the bureaucratic machine after Vash? (Conspiracy theorists unite! I've rented the VFW and there will be a meeting later with punch and pie. Make sure you aren't followed.) Later, Vash had a new arm attached. But since his time in the bulb had made the socket where the prosthetic attaches go bye-bye, he had to start from scratch. Ouches. Knives was thrust into a supportive role, which he didn't _totally_ suck at, and as a whole, I found the scene to be quite emotive-- nearly as touching as the heartfelt "Brothers don't shake hands! Brothers hug!"scene from _Tommy Boy_, which, as you know, set the bar for displays of filial devotion.

**A/N: **In my latest one-shot, I mentioned that this chapter was approaching 12,000 words. Well, that was a _touch_ too long (even for me). And as the content was becoming quite a sprawling mess, my betas gently suggested that perhaps I should save some for the eleventh chapter. Thus, I offer for your consideration: chapter 10, pared down to a much more manageable 7,000 words, or so.

Additionally, if I may be so bold: I suggest that you take a virtual stroll over to my profile, where you will find two one-shots I composed entitled, _He. Did. What!? _and _ The Road Home_, respectively. If you haven't already, I encourage you to read them before digging into the following text. There are references, and whatnot, that will make more sense (and perhaps be funnier) if you have these little ditties under your belt.

Also, this chapter is titled, not for the 1996 film starring Queen Latifah and Jada Pinkett before she married Big Willie, but rather, a track from the _Samurai Champloo_ soundtrack that was stuck on repeat, inside my head, as I wrote. Pick it up at realityLapse if you'd like to have a listen.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Set It Off**

* * *

"Either you trust me, or you do not. Stay or go, Vash, but don't hover." Knives didn't look up at his brother as he finished his breakfast. He was almost done with the crossword, as well, if only Vash would shut the hell up. "The fact that the 'Jessica' creature is still alive should be proof that I've impulse control enough not to kill anyone while you're away." 

Vash frowned at his eggs on toast. Initially, Knives had wanted him to stay in New Oregon for at least a month before he set off to find his friends. But after a week of being around Vash, who'd become as jittery and restless as a caged animal, it seemed Knives was more than willing to see his brother go. Vash just wasn't certain that Knives would be all right in his absence. What if something happened? There was a lot that could go wrong, leaving Knives alone on a ship full of humans. Vash's brain couldn't seem to stop reminding him of the numerous ways in which the situation could end in disaster.

But, Knives did have a point. Vash had to decide to either trust his brother and leave, or not trust him and stay. Maybe a show of confidence would be good for Knives. Or, maybe Vash would return to find the ship on fire and everyone dead.

"I know you want to see her," Knives said conversationally over his coffee cup. "I would have thought you'd be happy that I've not objected to it."

Vash could feel his cheeks redden and fumbled over a hasty correction: "Her? You mean _them, _don't you? I want to see _them._"

"Hn." Knives' tone was disinterested, but a subtle, mocking grin was tugging at his mouth.

"I mean, of course I want to see Meryl, but I want to see Wolfwood and Millie, too. I'm sure that they're really worried about me, and they've probably been trying to find me this whole time, and I've just been cooling my heels..." Vash noticed that Knives' subtle grin had become a full on smirk. "What?"

"Oh, nothing," Knives began smugly. "It's just that I only said that I knew you wanted to see _her._ I never mentioned a name."

Vash crossed his arms, and opened his mouth to protest further, only to close it again. He wasn't going to win this game. Especially, because what Knives was implying was true. Sure, he'd thought about Wolfwood and Millie. He missed them. But...

He had to find _her_. Even if she was probably going to strangle him the minute she saw him. He pictured her face in that patented expression of deep annoyance that seemed to be cast in his direction so often. It usually meant that he was about to get smacked or lectured, or both, but somehow, over the years, he'd come to love that look. Maybe it was because, most often, if she looked at him like that, it meant that she was concerned for him. That she cared. And usually, her bark was a lot worse than her bite.

"You do want to see her?" Knives continued to smirk, not missing the opportunity to exploit Vash's embarrassment for his own amusement.

"Why are you so cool with this all of a sudden?" Vash countered. He wanted to change the subject, but Knives was being awfully reasonable. _Reasonable, plus Knives, equals suspicious. _"I mean, you obviously know how I feel about her... er, them. And you're still okay with me leaving?"

Knives shrugged. "She's not so bad."

Vash gaped like a grounded fish. "Oh no... no, no, Knives. We have a deal. You promised! What the hell are you planning to do?"

Knives threw his pen on top of the paper with a huff. Obviously, Vash would not be quiet until they'd had some sort of "heartfelt" conversation on the topic of his little human friends.

"I'm not planning shit, Vash. You think you're going to bring them back here and show me the 'error of my ways'. That I'll find them as endearing and engaging as you obviously do, and my faith in humanity will be miraculously restored. So go." Knives fixed him with a narrowed gaze. "I want you to have every opportunity at 'saving' me, Vash. And when it's my turn, I don't want to hear a word about my not cooperating with you. We'll do things as I say, and you won't have shit to contend. Got it, Vash? If I'm up to something, this is it: I'm giving this little experiment everything I have, so that you will have to do the same."

Knives raised his eyebrows at Vash, daring him to respond. And what the hell _could_ he say to something like that? The prospect was frightening. When he'd struck this deal, Vash had considered the reformation of his twin a given, a matter or time and patience. But here was Knives, completely aware of what Vash was attempting, and yet totally unmoved. Vash had made him a promise, and if he didn't accomplish what he'd been so certain he could when he'd made this agreement, he'd be bound by his own hasty decision-making. But Knives couldn't really think that Vash would have anything to do with the destruction of humanity, that he'd help to wipe out the very race Rem had died to protect? Could he? But then, _not killing _them was probably as difficult for Knives as _killing_ them would be for Vash.

"Okay, well..." Vash started, deciding that his best course of action was to zero in on the only statement Knives had so far made that could reasonably be considered encouraging. "So, you like Meryl then?"

"What? I didn't say that," Knives scoffed. "I said she wasn't that bad. There's a gaping difference."

"Why isn't she that bad? I thought you hated all humans."

"I do," Knives replied tersely. "It's only, now that you keep forcing me to interact with them, I find some humans to be more loathsome than others."

"And Meryl is...?" Vash coaxed.

"Your pet, Vash, is..."

Knives sighed. Honestly, the thought of ever seeing that girl again had initially filled him with dread. From the moment he struck his deal with Vash, he knew his brother would want to find her, would find her. And really, the way he could feel Vash buzzing whenever he thought of her... At the very least, she was an unknown factor, one that shouldn't be ignored.

Her behavior, for one, was confusing and erratic: She hadn't killed Knives when she'd had the chance. She'd stayed when he'd let her go. He'd punched her in the face and she'd laughed at him. Laughed! At him! He'd had a long time to think about what had happened, and now... well, she was still obviously stupid and irrational, but... she was...

"She's not so bad," Knives shrugged again. He picked up his pen and turned back to the paper. "How's your arm?"

Vash knew it would piss his brother off, but he couldn't help it: he grinned. So... Knives found his insurance girl to be an interesting anomaly? Before, Knives had always anticipated the meeting of a human with indifference or loathing. Meryl, however, made him nervous. And while that wasn't exactly sunshine and lollipops, it was something different. And that filled Vash with a sense of hope. "Arm's great."

"Oh really?" Knives reached across the table without looking up, and poked Vash's deltoid where the prosthetic was attached. Hard.

"Ow! Quit it!" Vash whined, jerking the sore limb out of his twin's reach.

"Yeah. Seems super." Knives still didn't spare his brother a glance, chewing absently on the end of his pen. "What's an eleven letter word for 'hermetic hater'?"

Vash smiled sardonically, rising from the table. "You can't get that one?"

"No," Knives scowled, finally looking at Vash as he cleared the dishes. "Why? Is it easy or something?"

"Misanthrope."

"Huh." Knives' frown deepened. "Whatever. Leave already, would you?"

Vash dropped the dishes off in the sink. There was one more thing he had to talk to Knives about before he went. "Hey, Knives?"

"What?" Knives' voice had that 'slightly more irritated than normal' edge that told Vash he was swiftly losing interest in their conversation.

"If she decides to come back here with me, I want you to apologize to her."

That got his attention. Knives' head popped up as he demanded, "Apologize? What the hell for?"

"What for?" Vash shot back incredulously. "For kidnapping her, terrorizing her, hitting her, trying to kill her... pick one, Knives."

"That's not happening, Vash. Your little bitch can..."

Knives indignant refusal was cut off as Vash closed the short distance between them. He bent over Knives so that his own face was within a breath's width of his twin's. "That woman is _very _important to me." Knives instinctively went very still. A growing storm was promised in Vash's voice, a tone that he'd never heard him use before. "She's saved my life more than once. She sheltered you and took care of you when she would have been within rights of putting a bullet in your sleeping skull. And _you_..." Vash closed his eyes, pausing as he drew a shuddering breath.

Knives wasn't afraid of Vash, but he was totally unprepared for the sudden rage in his twin. He recognized the tremor in his muscles, the shaky breath that meant he was having trouble containing it. He'd seen it in himself, though up until a month or so ago, he'd never given name to it. But Vash... no, he'd never seen this in Vash. At least, not outside of a bad dream.

"Vash?" he asked carefully. "Are you all right?"

Vash straightened, his eyes softening as if he'd only just realized what had happened. Through their bond, Knives could feel that the anger was leaching away as quickly as it had invaded. "Yeah, I..." Vash stopped, as if dazed, confusion evident in the crease of his brow.

Knives rushed to fill the silent air: "Fine, I'll do it."

"You'll apologize?"

Knives looked away, but nodded his concession. "Sure."

Vash frowned, but there was no anger in it. Knives wondered again at how swiftly, and violently, his brother's mood had shifted. "You hurt her, Knives. I think about what she looked like... what you did to her..." Vash turned away and ran a hand through short, tousled hair.

Since he'd witnessed the reattachment of Vash's arm, it had become glaringly clear to Knives that Vash's life had been defined by the endurance and acceptance of pain. So much pain, in so many forms, that Knives could barely begin to conceive of it.

Regret was a new and strange emotion, and Knives wasn't sure what he could do with it. He couldn't take it back, but... "I won't do it again," Knives promised.

Vash smiled again, and any sense of the rage that had inhabited him only moments earlier was long gone. "Can I have the rest of the donuts?"

Knives considered the four honey-glazed pastries sitting on a plate in the middle of table: Tasty baked goodness, versus listening to Vash whine... "Fine, take them. Does this mean you're finally leaving?"

Vash quickly scooped the donuts up before Knives could change his mind, one of them being directly deposited into his mouth, while the other three were wrapped in a napkin. "Mmm hmm," Vash affirmed around the pastry.

"Well, try not to get caught, and be careful of your arm."

"What're you? My wife?" Vash groused, licking his fingers clean.

The muscle above Knives' eyes twitched, but he offered Vash a benign smile. "On second thought-- Get caught. I'm quite sure I would have a lot of fun retrieving you from the military."

'A lot of fun', meaning: death, destruction, carnage. "You wouldn't dare," Vash said skeptically. "You said you wouldn't harm anyone."

"No. My promise was conditional. I said that I wouldn't harm a human unless said human threatened me or mine," Knives calmly corrected. "I would take the capture and imprisonment of my only, dear, little brother as an inarguable threat."

_Great. Now I really, really can't get caught. _Not that he'd had any intention of surrendering peacefully before, but now he had no doubt that if he did get taken down by bounty hunters or Cavalry his 'loving' older brother would literally carve a path through anyone who stood in the way of 'rescue'.

Vast cast his brother a withering glare as he cinched closed the top of his duffel: "Won't come to that, Knives."

"Stay out of trouble," Knives said as Vash hefted his bag to his shoulder.

Vash glanced back. Did Knives sound... _nervous_, just then? He smiled in a way that he knew Knives would find irritating and said, "Same to you, bro."

* * *

Meryl tied off the line of thread, finishing the final stitch in Vash's duster. Every tear had been closed to near seamless perfection, every stitch as small and precise as a surgeon's. 

She'd had a hell of a time finding the material to replace the missing sleeve. The textile dealer in September told her he'd never seen a fabric like it. He wasn't even sure what it was. But he'd been able to dye a few yards of heavy-weight cotton the same vibrant shade of red, and as she held the jacket out to inspect her work, she noted with satisfaction that one could hardly tell the difference.

Impulsively, she gripped the garment by the collar and bunched it around the lower half of her face, inhaling deeply. She allowed her eyes to drift shut. It still smelled like him.

Like sweat and dry wind. Gun-oil. The sharp, acrid burn of an expelled round. A hint of tobacco, second-hand from time spent with Wolfwood. A touch of something crisp and artificial: his hair gel, she realized. Whiskey, too. The parched heat of sunshine, and the cool stone wash of sand.

It smelled like... everything that she loved.

* * *

Rosana McLeod had never seen the bar so dead, even if it was only noon. Considering how hot the day was, she would have expected at least a few customers seeking refuge from the suns. 

She sighed as she wiped down the bar. She'd already buffed the lacquered, artificially wooden surface to a dull glow, the closest thing to a shine she was going to get from the weathered relic, but Rosana had always been prone to nervous energy. Better to buff a clean bar than to stand around doing nothing.

The creak of the door as it swung on its time-wearied hinges brought her attention away from her aimless, circular cleaning. She squinted against the light that escaped in from the street. The tall, featureless lineation of a man stood motionless in the frame.

"Look, here," she began peevishly. "If you're from the government, we already told you that we haven't seen him since he left, and we have no idea where he's gone."

The man stepped into the low light of the bar. "Hey there, gorgeous," he said, with a smile that was at odds with his dusty, road-worn appearance. "Lemme get a beer?"

"Vash!" Rosana swooped out from behind the bar, hugging him tightly before she pulled back just far enough to fuss. "You stupid kid! What are you doing here? Don't you know they put a bounty back on you? How did that happen, anyway?" She cocked her head to one side, appraising him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Vash opened his mouth to respond, the tip of his tongue behind his teeth as he attempted to say, _'Nothing!' _but Rosana didn't give him a chance.

"Oh, never mind. I'm sure I don't even want to know... What did you do to your hair?" she exclaimed, finally noticing the difference. Vash ran his hand over the top of his head self-consciously. He was sure the blond was muddy with sand and sweat. Rosana grinned fondly at him as he nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well, I like it. It makes you look more grown-up. Are you hungry? Of course, you're hungry. You must be thirsty, too. Come and sit down. I'll fix you something, okay?"

Though he'd hardly spoken a word, Vash felt winded. It wasn't just Rosana. Now that he'd stopped walking, he felt his weariness catch up. He slumped gratefully onto a barstool. "Can I swap that beer for a glass of water?"

Rosana turned around to face him, already holding a glass and a pitcher of water, which she placed in front of him with a wink. "Now let me see if I can't whip you up a salmon sandwich... or six."

"Rosie, if you weren't already married, I'd be on my knees."

Vash smiled once more for Rosana before reaching for the water. It was only slightly cool, borderline warm, which he preferred. It just made it easier to drink fast. Half the pitcher was gone in the time it took Mac to appear from the kitchen.

"Well, you're flirting with my wife," he grinned, "so you can't be in that bad a shape."

"Hey-ya, Mac!"

"Kid, you look like you've been ridin' under a sandsteamer. Where the heck did you disappear to?"

Mac leaned against the bar. He was relieved to see Vash alive, and could tell the young man was happy to be in their company, but all three of them knew that Vash wasn't just stopping in to catch up. A lot had gone down since last he'd seen the Stampede, most of it shrouded in mystery.

"It's a long story, Mac..." Vash sighed, "... although it's kind of a short one-- I was taking care of some family business."

"How'd that work out?"

"Still, waiting to find out," Vash looked down at his hands, offering them the quirk of a smile, "but I'm optimistic... Uh, Rosie said something about the government asking questions... Wouldn't happen to be about me, would it?"

Mac barked out a dry laugh. "Seemed like the entire Cavalry was here 'bout two weeks ago, wanting to know anything and everything about you. Of course, no one here had any information. Even those who would've been willing to share it." He fixed Vash with a meaningful look. "Ain't safe for you here, kid. Whole town knows your face, and I'm sorry to say it, but there're plenty who'd be happy to turn you in for that kind of bounty."

Vash shrugged uneasily, then turned his attention to a plate piled high with sandwiches that Rosana set in front of him. "Had to come back," he said between mouthfuls, "best service on Gunsmoke!"

He flashed Rosana an enormous, plastic grin, but was met by a soft, somewhat sad expression in return. "I don't know why you're in trouble, honey... but I know why you're here: You're looking for Meryl, right?"

Vash swallowed hard, hastily wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Do you know where she is? And Milly, too? And there was probably a priest with them... though, he normally doesn't look like much of a priest. I went back to the house, but it was cleared out, and I figured that Meryl might have told you where she was headed."

Vash had started his search in the last place he'd seen Meryl happy and healthy. He hadn't really expected her to be waiting there for him, but that hadn't stopped him from being crest-fallen when he'd walked into an empty house. How could he have been so stupid as to leave them alone with him? It had been worse than foolish; it had been arrogant. A flash memory of the smirk on her face as she handed him his 'peace offering', followed by her wide eyes and bleeding mouth as she dangled from Knives' fist.

Mac shook his head. "Millie came in here in a panic, with a dark-haired fella, asking to borrow the truck. A few days later they came back to return it. They had Meryl with them, pretty face of hers all a mess, but all she would tell us is that she was going to look for you."

"Oh." Guilt had never been a difficult emotion for Vash to identify, as it so closely resembled being shot in the gut.

"She sent us a letter last week," Rosana offered, and Vash's face brightened, only to fall again as Rosana's expression remained cautious and somber. "There was no post-mark and she didn't say where she was, just that she was doing just fine, but... Vash, sweetie, she told us that if you came looking for her..."

Rosana stopped, turning away from Vash and toward her husband for support. Mac sighed heavily. "She doesn't want you to look for her."

The words echoed in Vash's head like empty footsteps. He found he had to close his eyes against the sad concern in Mac's face. He felt stupid, vulnerable. Embarrassed that the news surprised him. It was good, really. Hadn't he been telling her to stay the hell away from him for years? Hadn't he thought, a hundred times, how much safer she'd be if she'd keep her distance? How much happier? He recalled a dozen notes scrawled in his own handwriting: _"Don't follow me."_ Is this how she'd felt when she'd read them?

He looked unfocusedly at the plate of food in front of him. He could sense Mac and Rosana in his periphery, watching him with careful uncertainty. He could feel that they wanted to comfort him, but were unsure. He really should try to smile. He was making them uncomfortable. But his expression didn't want to cooperate. A small black cat leaped onto the bar and nosed at the sandwiches.

Vash reached out a hand to stroke the cat's back, but froze midway through the motion, registering a shift in the animal's mien. Its ears flipped, low and back towards the door as the hair at its neck raised on end.

Vash reacted before his logical mind made sense of the change. "Down!" he shouted, already vaulting over the bar, taking Rosana, Mac, and the cat to the floor with him.

The door of the saloon burst inward off the toe of a boot, letting in a spray of bullets that laid into the bar and the wall behind it. Rosana let out a startled cry as mirrors, glasses, and bottles exploded above them. Vash covered them with as much of his body as he was able, a rain of glass shards falling on his back and neck.

"Hold fire!!" a voice echoed, and Mac brought his hands away from his ears as the gunfire ceased, the sharp smell of smoke and metal more noticeable in the sudden silence. "Bounty's no good if he's dead, you fucking idiots!"

Recognizing the voice, Mac angrily attempted to stand, but was jerked back down by the hand Vash bunched in the hem of his shirt. "Anthony Trivolli, you filthy punk! What the hell are you doing to my bar!"

Anthony laughed. "Sorry 'bout that, old man! But that's what you get for harboring outlaws!"

Mac clenched his fists, but remained kneeling behind the bar. "Old man? I'm only forty-five, you snot-nosed son-of-a-bitch!"

"You okay?" Vash muttered, shaking the glass from his hair and collar. "Either of you hurt?"

Both men turned towards Rosana, whose face had turned red with anger. "I'm just fine. Which is more than that little brat will be able to say by the time I'm through with him."

"Come on out, Vash the Stampede!" Anthony's voice bellowed from the other side of their barricade. "You broke my nose and you stole my truck! Two-hundred billion should just about cover it!"

"What!?" Vash popped his head up over the bar to see if he was serious. Another short burst of gunfire sent him ducking for cover once more. "I didn't steal your truck!"

"You're full of shit! Franklin saw you and your bitch driving out of town in it! Don't even bother lying!"

Vash crouched down with his shoulders leaning against the bar-back. He pulled his gun from its holster and held it loosely in front of him. _So that's where the truck that Knives and Meryl were traveling in came from? _He tried to imagine Meryl boosting Anthony's pickup, but the scenario was just too funny.

He noticed that Mac and Rosana were looking questioningly at the sudden smirk on his face. He quickly schooled his expression to one more appropriate to the current situation. _Gunfight, remember? _When he'd popped his head up for that moment, he'd taken in the layout of the bar. _Damn_. Somehow five men, including Anthony, had managed to get inside and spread out during the initial spray of bullets. And by his count of rounds fired, all still had ammunition.

_'I'm getting sloppy_,' Vash thought. How did it escape him that five armed men were approaching the only entrance? _Dammit! _ If Knives were here, he'd be giving him flack about letting his sentimentalism dull his senses. _Thank goodness for that cat..._ Vash looked down at the unusually small feline, who'd taken cover between his knees. "Thanks, kitty," he said.

The best thing to do would be to end this quickly. The longer it played out, the more chance there was of somebody getting hurt. He took a quick scan of every object within arm's reach, seeing if any thing was usable. His eyes landed on a stack of serving trays. He readied himself, pivoting on the balls of his feet, his crouch still low. He quietly told the McLeods, "Stay close to the ground, and don't move."

On the other side of Vash's barricade, across the saloon, stood Franklin Weaver. Up until earlier that morning, when someone had spotted Vash the Stampede entering town, he'd been a construction worker. Three hours later, he was now a bounty hunter. And if all went well, tomorrow he'd begin a career as a gentleman of leisure. That, anyway, had been the wise and reasonable plan they'd developed, as he, Anthony, and three other men had conspired over eggs at the diner across town.

_Oh dear Lord, what the hell was I thinking?_

Franklin looked to his left and right. The other 'bounty hunters' were still standing to either side, but they didn't look any more formidable than he felt. Franklin's palms were clammy and slick around his weapon, a gun he hardly knew how to use. He could feel the tension building in his muscles with every second that slowly ticked by. How had Anthony talked him into this? Going up against Vash the Stampede? He must have been crazy. No amount of money could be worth this.

He heard the Typhoon talking to the McLeods on the other side of the bar, but he couldn't make out the words. The tenor-pitched voice, even in muffled tones, made Franklin's abdomen pull in on itself in fear. He leaned forward slightly, could sense the men to his left and right tensing with him.

A flash of movement above the bar drew their eyes and their gunfire. Their bullets hammered a random pattern into the object as it flew through the air. _'A serving tray,'_ Franklin realized, his gaze darting back to the surface of the bar just in time to see the eyes of the Stampede as he came over the top.

Franklin's mind wasn't able the keep pace with series of events that then followed. One moment he was trying to bring the aim of his gun back around on the outlaw. The next moment, another tray collided with his hands, sending the weapon clattering across the room. In the same instant, Paul, the man to Franklin's right, lost his gun. The weapon seemed to fly from his hands of its own accord. But no, the Stampede had his colt aimed, smoke billowing from the barrel. He'd _shot _the gun out of Paul's grasp.

In the time it took Franklin to process this sensory information, the Humanoid Typhoon had already relieved two other men of their weapons, dodging their fire as he slipped between them. The butt of his colt, and the heel of his boot, respectively rendered both bounty hunters unconscious.

A blur of limbs and fabric half-stumbled, half-ran past Franklin. Apparently, Paul had decided to retreat. The part of Franklin's brain that had registered the turn in the battle wholeheartedly agreed with the other man's strategy. Franklin took off for the exit like a dart. This had been Anthony's idea. Whatever happened now, he was on his own.

Anthony stared in shock as his bounty hunters were all rendered unarmed, or unconscious, in the span of a few heartbeats that echoed ever more loudly in his ears. He kept his weapon trained on Vash the Stampede as he watched Franklin and Paul run ungracefully through the door. _Cowards! _He brought up a second hand to his gun, tucking his elbows against his chest to steady it. The outlaw's turquoise glare was fixed on him over the barrel of the silver colt, like an extension of the weapon, cutting straight into his core.

Sensing Anthony's fear, and having learned that a terrified man was the most dangerous and unpredictable of possible opponents, Vash lowered his gun and slipped it back into his holster. Anthony's eyes widened a moment in surprise, but a measure of his confidence seemed to return as he extended the 9mm handgun with a steadier arm in Vash's direction.

"Surrendering?" Anthony demanded.

The gunman smiled oddly, "Sorry, but no. Can't do that."

Rosana and Mac's curiosity got the best of them, and they cautiously stood, the little black cat cradled in Rosana's arms. They watched as Vash strode slowly but assuredly towards Anthony, until the 9mm was all but brushing his cheek.

The tremor returned to Anthony's arm, and he shifted his weight as if to take a step backward. "Don't move!" he barked in desperation.

Vash wasn't sure how long Anthony's nerves would hold out, so he made a knee-jerk decision to neutralize the conflict. He locked his right hand onto the inside of Anthony's extended right elbow, moving the aim of the gun away from his face, so that it would harmlessly hit the wall behind him if fired. At the same time, he used his left hand to twist Anthony's palm down, and bend his wrist up. The gun dropped from Anthony's grasp as his fingers were left point to the ceiling, the back of his hand suddenly locked against Vash's chest. Vash slid his right hand up to Anthony's wrist, bending his own arm as he did, so that his elbow came over the top of Anthony's over-extended right arm. A little pressure as Vash brought his own right arm down into his body, pivoted Anthony on his bent wrist. The would-be bounty hunter soon found himself doubled over, staring at the ground as his right arm was pulled up and against Vash's body, perpendicular to the ground.

It all happened before Anthony had a chance to register it, let alone react. One moment he was holding his gun to the Stampede's head. In the next breath he was on his knees, staring at the toe of Vash's right boot, his arm pointing straight up behind his shoulder. He wasn't in pain, but the hold promised dislocation if he attempted to struggle against it.

"You know? I never did find out what you do for a living, Anthony," Vash said conversationally as he kicked the 9mm away with his left foot. Mac came cautiously from behind the bar and retrieved it. He gathered the other discarded weapons, as well, and began checking on the unconscious men.

Anthony could feel a bead of sweat as it rolled off his nose. "I'm an architect."

"Really?" Vash said brightly. "That's a really important job! I bet you're good at it, too."

Anthony swallowed hard. Circumstance had to make this the strangest conversation he'd ever had. The Stampede spoke as if they were having a beer together, as if they hadn't just had a gunfight, and Vash didn't have him in an air-tight submissive hold. "Yeah. I guess you could say I'm pretty good at it."

"That's great." Vash eased a little of the pressure off of Anthony's arm, but kept a confident grip. "I hope you decide to stick with that. I really don't think that bounty hunting is your calling. Besides! It's really dangerous! Somebody might've gotten hurt. As it is, I think your friends are going to have real bad headaches when they wake up."

Anthony didn't respond, holding his breath as he waited to see what the Typhoon would do next.

Vash rearranged his left had so that his grip on Anthony's palm was more comfortable for the other man. He bent slightly, gripping Anthony's left elbow as he helped him to his feet. Reaching eye-level, Anthony stared in mute confusion. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" Vash grinned.

Still stunned into silence, Anthony was merely able to muster a slow shake of his head.

"Hey," Vash said seriously, "I am really sorry about breaking your nose. Looks like it healed straight, though! Oh and, I really didn't steal your truck, but I think I know where it is, and I can probably get it back to you, okay?"

"Um... sure," Anthony managed.

"Great!" Vash's eyes squinted merrily into his broad smile. "I just need you to do two things for me, alright?"

"Uh..." Anthony began slow-wittedly, but the gunman cut him off.

"I think you need to apologize to the McLeods. And since you're an architect, it would nice if you'd fix all this damage."

Anthony hazarded a glance away from the outlaw, noting the destruction around him, and the drawn faces and crossed arms of the owners. "Yeah, um, sorry, Mac... Rosana. I... I think I can get this fixed up within the month." He turned back to Vash. "Is that okay?"

Vash shrugged. "You'll have to work that out with Rosie and Mac. But listen, I need you to apologize about what you said."

Anthony's brain raced over every word that had come out of his mouth since he'd entered the bar. What had offended the gunman? Noting Anthony's confused expression, Vash narrowed his gaze. "You called Meryl a 'bitch'," he supplied. "I thought we came to an understanding regarding that sort of behavior."

Anthony's pulse quickened as panic seized his gut, remembering what Vash had done the last time he'd spoken ill of the waitress. "Yes, sir! I'm really, really sorry about that. I don't know what I was thinking." he hastily answered.

Vash gaze remained narrow and fixed, but his expression was otherwise calm and nonthreatening. "She's really a very nice girl..."

"Yes, I know," Anthony said. A muscle twitched in Vash's jaw, and Anthony quickly amended the error in his phrasing. "I mean, I don't really _know_... I.. ah... I've never spent any time with her, so I don't really know her, like you do... or, uh..."

Vash put up a hand to stop the man's fumbling explanation. "It's okay, Anthony. Just be happy she's not here. You think I'm scary?" Vash let out a low whistle as he rolled his eyes. "Next time, I'll sick her on you. Got it?"

"Thank you, Mr. Vash, sir." Anthony gave a small, respectful bow, intending to leave the bar as quickly as possible now that the gunman seemed to be through with him. As he straightened, however, he became aware of a blur of motion in his periphery a moment before the world went spotty, and then black.

"Mac!" Vash exclaimed, looking on in distress as the bar owner stood over the prone figure of Anthony Trivolli.

Sam McLeod rubbed his knuckles where they'd made hard contact with the side of Anthony's head. "You didn't really think I was going to let that punk off that easily after trashing my place?" Mac shook his head. "You really are too soft, kid."

"But the fight was over!" Vash whined. "You didn't have to hit him!"

"Actually, son," Mac clapped a hand on Vash's shoulder as the gunman stared incredulously at him, "I really did."

Rosana had retrieved a broom from the back, and was already sweeping up the bits of broken glass and splintered bar, seemingly uninterested in the three men still laying unconscious on the floor of her saloon. "You should get going, sweetie," she said between strokes of her broom. "With all that ruckus, somebody's bound to come and investigate, and you probably shouldn't be here when they do."

Vash watched her work. She refused to meet his gaze, but he could make out the sheen of tears as her eyes focused on the floor. "Aw, Rosie," he said as he walked over to her, the broom clattering to the ground as he wrapped her in an embrace. "Don't cry, okay? I'm really sorry. If I knew this was going to happen I wouldn't have come."

Rosana laughed against his chest. "It's not that, you dumb kid. I'm worried about you!" She shook her head as she pulled away. "How'd a guy like you ever end up in so much trouble?"

Vash shrugged as he smiled. "Just lucky, I guess."

Rosana's face became stern, motherly. A notion flitted through his mind, that in that moment, Rosana reminded him of Rem. "Now you listen here: I don't give a hoot what Meryl wrote. You go and find that girl."

"But..." Vash began to protest.

"Don't even finish that sentence. I love Meryl, but she's stubborn and dense and doesn't know what's good for her." She smiled, smoothing down the lapels of his duster. "You're a nice boy, Vash. If I was her mother, I'd want you to find her."

If only she knew the half of it. She called him 'kid' and 'boy' when he was over ninety years her senior. A self-deprecating grin worked at Vash's mouth. "I'm not like the other boys, Rosie. I'm..." He almost continued the thought aloud. Almost told her that Meryl was better off without someone, some_thing_, like him in her life. That it was a blessing that she'd finally wised up.

Rosana read into the uncertainty that was laced through the pregnant silence that followed Vash's statement. She touched his cheek affectionately, catching his attention. "I don't think Meryl is like the other girls, either."

"So, kiddo," Mac interjected, brushing debris from a barstool before he took a seat, "what's next?"

Vash turned back to look at Rosana. She seemed so sure, so certain. Certain of him, of the value in the man before her. He smiled softly, remembering a bit of advice Wolfwood had once given him, and deciding that where Meryl was concerned, it would be better to have to apologize, than to ask permission. "You guys wouldn't happen to know how far it is to December from here?"


	11. December

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/don't worry about it: Knives isn't even in this chapter  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:**_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** In this installment, I am happy to bring you a guest summarizer: the lovely and talented Sugar Pill. That is why _this_ summary is so much funnier and better written than previous summaries. Enjoy it while it lasts, because next time you're stuck with me again! (And yes, Sugar Pill does hold the license that permits her to spell "skills" with a 'z' at her own discretion.) :

Last Time: While Vash had planned to stay with Knives awhile to ease his transition back into society (genocide doesn't exactly make polite getting-to-know-you-talk), he was too worried about his friends (and a certain insurance girl) to stay put. So, over a breakfast of eggs and revealing conversation (topics spanned from Knives tricking Vash into revealing his feelings for Meryl and Vash schooling Knives in the ways of Thou Shalt Not Diss My Woman (see: _He. Did. What?!_), to Knives revealing he thought of Vash's 'pet' as a human anomaly (what's a five letter word for "short insurance agent with a penchant for scaring the crap out of grown men and certain free-walking plants"?) and Knives declaring that he planned to be on his best behavior for the next five years, so that when it was his turn, he could expect nothing less from Vash), Vash bid his brother a fond farewell (AKA "please don't massacre anyone while I gone, okay?") and set out to find Wolfwood and the girls. Meanwhile, Meryl put her sewing skills to use on a peculiar red coat and allowed herself to indulge in _Eau de Stampede _(In stores now! Note: may cause wearer to develop an insatiable appetite for pastries and become a walking disaster). Vash then reached his first stop at the McLeod's saloon, where he learned that Meryl had instructed Rosana and Mac to tell him to not go after her. But before Vash could completely contemplate the ironic hurt of Meryl feeding him some of his own medicine, the bar was torn apart by a barrage of bullets! It was Anthony Trivolli and a gang of would-be-but-shouldn't-quit-their-day-job bounty hunters come to collect on Vash's whopping $$200 billion price tag and exact revenge for Anthony's broken nose and stolen truck (Whoops, guess Vash now knows about Meryl's secret ability to boost cars). But don't worry, Vash made sure everyone was safe (including Kuroneko, _nyah!_) before he taught Anthony and his unfortunate friends why he's called The Stampede (think Tarantino-like mad skillz without all the fake blood). After making Anthony promise he would repair the McLeod's bar, Rosana and some of Wolfwood's advice (see: _The Drive Home_) convinced Vash to go find Meryl after all: "where Meryl was concerned, it would be better to have to apologize, than to ask permission." Famous last words? Hopefully not.

**A/N: **The magical hundredth review has been reached (not to mention over 5000 hits, which I'm sure is only a result of my own re-reading) ensuring my canonization into the _Trigun_ Fanfiction Hall of Infamy... or, something. Thank you faithful reviewers and long-suffering betas!! And another expression of gratitude to Abbadon Nox, who of late, has made herself available to bounce my crazy ideas off of. --begin shameless plug-- You should all go read her fic "Do Young Priests Dream of Sacrificial Lambs?" "DYPDoSL?" is, in my opinion, one of the best-kept secrets in the _Trigun_ fandom, but to quote Levar Burton: You don't have to take my word for it. --end shameless plug--

* * *

**Chapter 11: December**

* * *

December City, as it turned out, was a good two-hundred to two-hundred-fifty iles away, depending on the route one chose. As Vash was attempting to 'stay below the radar', and as he wasn't exactly sure of whose radar he had to avoid, he was forced to go the long way. It should have taken a month, but Vash was a determined man: he made the trip in less than two weeks. This entailed no less than four bus rides, several days and nights on foot, three hitched rides with characters of a dubious nature, and eighty-six hours on the back of a thomas. 

Most of it hadn't been so bad. The only sleep he'd gotten had been while riding the bus, but he was familiar enough with walking, and those he'd hitched rides with were more creepy than actually dangerous. It was the thomas that had given him trouble.

He'd bought her on the edge of a town that hardly required a name, for the price of a bottle of cheap rye-blend. He wasn't what one would call an 'accomplished' rider. In fact, his few experiences with the breed had landed him either on his ass in the sand, or in the hospital. But with no other modes of transportation availing themselves, he'd taken a chance. He picked what he thought was the friendliest looking of the bunch and named her 'Eileen' after his tragically dead, tragically imaginary, girlfriend.

That had been his first mistake.

For the first eight hours of their budding relationship, Eileen seemed to care neither for her name, nor the wanna-be cowboy who cluelessly attempted to direct her actions. His weight in the saddle was awkward, he held the reins like limp noodles. How could she respect someone like that? She'd bucked him off twice for every ile they traveled.

Eventually, somewhere around his fifteenth face-plant, Vash had been able to forge a shaky alliance with his steed. He'd imitated the techniques he'd seen Millie and Meryl employ (the girls having a knack for thomasback riding). He'd stroked her neck, spoken to her softly, and when that hadn't worked... he'd given her every last donut hidden in his duffel.

The peace agreement between man and beast was unorthodox, but functional, and ultimately effective: Eileen crested a dune, bringing December into sight, and Vash the Stampede was still on her back. Vash didn't so much 'dismount' as slide off of her side. His legs were shaky and he was sore in some of the _very_ few places he didn't have scars. He took a moment, sitting in the sand, to observe December from a distance. The last big city he'd been in had been Augusta. Before that, July.

Was he really going to do this? Was he really going to walk into the biggest city on Gunsmoke of his own accord? Knowing what he was, of what he was capable? Vash appraised the peaceful skyline, flexed the fingers of his right hand unconsciously. Yeah. Yeah, he was.

Vash closed his eyes. Strange, how even after days in the desert, his body could find the moisture for tears. As if sensing his distress, and feeling guilty for her earlier obstenance, Eileen softly nosed his shoulder. He absently scratched her head beneath the sandshield in response.

Yes. He was going to walk straight into December, a weapon of unfathomable power hanging by his right-side, masquerading as an arm. He would do it, because it was the only way to ultimately find her. _When did I become so selfish? _He wondered what Rem would say, but her image didn't come to him. No blue skies. No flower petals. But then, he had told her that he needed to make his own decisions for a while.

Vash stood, gathering Eileen's reins in his right hand. "Ready, Eileen?" he asked, a grin displacing a soft, thoughtful frown. "Now don't be jealous," he continued to tell his steed, "but I've gotta see someone about a girl."

Eileen followed Vash down the dune, and through the hurried streets of December until they reached the massive edifice of the Bernardelli Insurance Society. Despite the decidedly modern feel of the city, there were posts for tying off thomases at intervals along the sidewalks. Vash fixed a loose knot in the reins and gave his mount a parting pat on the neck. "Wish me luck, girl. See you soon."

Vash's pace slowed as he neared the building's entrance. Two statues of lions on pillars guarded the long stairway that led up to a wall of glass windows and doors. He paused, the lobby invisible past his own reflection. A group of young people in skirts and suits passed him on their way through the revolving doors.

Wow. He looked really out of place. At Knives' insistence, every article of his previously trust-worthy traveling attire had been traded out. Well, he was still wearing jeans, but that was about all that was left. His long-reaching boots with their intricate line of buckles and snaps had been replaced by a much less complicated pair of leather chaps. They were long, revealing just the toes and heels of a traditional pair of cowboy boots. He missed the security of the concealed blade in his old pair, but now that he wasn't stepping down on a plate of metal, screwed into his instep, he found a custom pair of boots wasn't really necessary for comfort's sake. One belt held up his jeans and the chaps, while the other was slung low on his hips, holstering his gun. His preferred trench-style of duster had been forsaken for an open-fronted model in a light-weight, deeply tanned leather. No longer being able to button his jacket high around his face, he'd been obliged to add a bandanna to protect his mouth and nose against sudden gusts of wind and sand. This now hung loosely around his neck, across the partially unbuttoned front of a cotton shirt. And good God, his hair... It had started to grow out, but with none of the grace of his brother's obedient locks. Vash's hair, cut in the same style as his twin's, stuck out at every conceivable angle, a mess of cowlicks and counter-turning crowns that always made him look as if he'd only just gotten out of bed. He hadn't shaved in a week, and the stubbled shadow, a shade or two darker than the hair on his head, made him look gruffer and less boyish. _Less trustworthy_, he thought.

Vash hardly recognized himself in the man reflected in the glass. _This _man was some sort of dangerous desperado. _This _man didn't have a chance in hell of getting anyone inside this building to tell him where he could find the insurance girls.

He sighed, thinking that perhaps he should check into a hotel, clean himself up a little before he gave this half-hatched plan a try.

"Ahem!" Vash's attention was drawn to the sound. A doorman was holding one of the large glass doors next to the revolving ones open. "Coming inside, sir?" the man questioned.

Vash hesitated a moment longer, but the doorman smiled pleasantly enough. _Oh, what the hell... _"Sure. Thanks." He walked through the entrance, taking a deep breath and a quick look around as he entered the lobby. His eyes landed on a directory mounted on the wall next to the front desk: '_Risk Prevention: Floor Five.' _

Avoiding the elevator, Vash entered the stairwell, taking them two at a time. A tickle of doubt entered his mind as he opened the door leading out onto the fifth floor, but he pushed it aside. _This is going to work. This has to work. _He took a few steps forward and paused, looking out at the arrangement of desks, walkways, and low dividers. Who should he talk to? Where did he go first?

He squared his shoulders, deciding that he'd ask whoever was sitting at the first desk he ran into. He started down a walkway, offering a nervous smile to a blond girl as they passed each other.

"You!" The hissing gasp of an exclamation made Vash turn on his heel. The blond girl he'd just passed was stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him with a mixture of recognition and disbelief. Before Vash could react, the girl had seized his arm and was dragging him down the hall. She unceremoniously shoved him into a tiny room on his left. No, not a room: a closet. The girl quickly shut the door behind them and reached for a dangling string, the overhead light snapping to life.

Vash took in her features. She was pretty, maybe wore a little too much makeup. Beauty-mark on her chin. Long, wavy hair. Did he know this girl? She seemed to know him. "Uh... I'm sorry, miss. Have we...?"

"What the hell are you doing here!?" she angrily hissed, a glossy, manicured nail poking into his chest.

"I'm, um... I'm looking for Meryl Stryfe and Millie..." he began meekly.

"I know that!" she interrupted, exasperation evident. "What are you doing _here_? Don't you know how badly this company wants to find Vash the Stampede? How hard Meryl, Millie and I have been working to make sure you _don't _get found?! And here you are! You just waltz right into headquarters!" She threw her hands up in disbelief, causing Vash to wince against a potential smack.

"I'm sorry... I don't..." he tried lamely, "I have no idea who you are, or what you're talking about."

The girl narrowed her gaze, tapping her foot in irritation. "Well... you are certainly just as Meryl described." He could only blink in confusion, and the girl softened, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "I'm Karen. I used to work with Meryl and Millie when they were stationed here. You know? When you disappeared on them for two years?"

"Oh." Vash looked away guiltily.

"Yeah... _'Oh.'_..." Karen's irritation was back. Vash couldn't, for the life of him, seem to figure out why he always had that sort of effect on women. "You must know there's a bounty on your head again? And this time the military and Bernardelli are mutually interested parties, working together to find you. I've been rerouting and redirecting every piece of correspondence Meryl and Millie have sent me, _trying _to keep anyone from getting any leads on where you might be... Do you have any idea how badly this complicates things for me? Having you show up here?" Her eyes suddenly widened as an unpleasant thought entered her mind. "Did anyone else see you? Who else did you talk to?"

"No! No one!" Vash put his hands up protectively between them. "You're the first person I ran into! Swear!"

Karen heaved a sigh of relief, crossing her arms against her chest. "Well, you have to go."

A measure of Vash's resolve returned. He shook his head. "Not going anywhere until you tell me where I can find her."

"Her?" Karen's mouth screwed up into a half-smile. "Would that be Millie, or Meryl?"

Realizing his mistake, Vash fumbled, "Oh, um... what I..."

Karen turned her nose in the air, put up a hand to silence him. "Don't bother. You'll only embarrass yourself."

Vash laughed nervously, his hand unconsciously reaching around to the back of his neck. "Yeah, you're probably right." He let his hand fall back to his side and looked Karen in the eye, offering what he hoped was the most endearing and disarming smile in his arsenal. "Can't you just tell me where to find her? Please?"

Karen's posture softened, but she wasn't entirely moved. "She doesn't want you looking for her," she said softly. In the stillness of the small space where they stood, she could hear a hitched shudder as Vash released the breath he'd been holding. _What a stupid man. _"Don't you get it?" she hissed. "The military and the Society are watching _her_, hoping that she'll lead them straight to you. She's protecting you, you lunkhead!"

"Oh... so she...?" Karen noted the childlike hope that lit the man's face, and wondered how this person could _possibly_ be Vash the Stampede. But no, that was definitely the face that had been staring out from a frame, closed in one of the drawers of Meryl's desk, for as long as Karen could remember.

Karen sighed, defeated. Meryl was going to kill her for this if anything went wrong, but... "Oh, damn it all!" Karen suddenly huffed, and Vash eyed her quizzically. "You stay here. I'm going to tell the chief that I need to leave. We've got a lot to do before tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?" Vash asked.

"_You_ are going to September, to the Thompson Homestead," she replied in a clipped tone.

Vash couldn't help the broad grin that eagerly made its way onto his lips. "You're going to help me," he said assuredly.

Karen took a menacing step toward him, her face cross as she stabbed another fingernail into his chest. "Don't you dare make me regret this! When you disappeared? When you were gone for all that time? Without a word to let either of them know you were even alive? She _grieved _you... She might not have said it, but, she suffered." Vash swallowed hard, Karen's cutting gaze was unwavering.

"I never thought of that," Vash admitted quietly. "At the time, I was trying... I just wanted to protect her." It was the truth. At least, it was what he'd considered to be true at the time. Now, it just seemed inadequate, a lame excuse for his cowardice.

Karen didn't back off, as dissatisfied with his explanation as he was. "Just so we're clear? I think you're trouble. And I'm not convinced that it's a good idea to help you, but knowing Meryl... I suspect she'll stop being mad at me the minute she sees you. But!" she said, raising that threatening finger so it pointed at his face. "You'd better not hurt her, or disappear again, or chicken out, or any bullshit like that, because then it will be my fault for sending you to her. Got it?"

Vash wanted to promise, to tell Karen that he would never hurt Meryl again. That he would never be frightened. That he would never do the wrong thing. But a promise you can't be sure you'll keep is no better than a lie. Despite the masks he often wore, honesty was one of Vash's greatest strengths. He met Karen's fierce gaze and breathed, "Please... I have to find Meryl."

When Meryl had first returned from the Outer, Karen hadn't allowed anyone to ask questions about the Stampede. Meryl had been through enough, and it would be best if she could just put the whole, ugly incident behind her. But the way Meryl had defended the man! Karen had been sure it was some sort of version of Stockholm Syndrome. The woman was obviously delusional. And from the way Millie praised the numerous meritorious qualities of 'Mr. Vash', the delusion appeared to be contagious. If she hadn't held Meryl and Millie in such high regard, both personally and professionally, Karen never would have agreed to this game of subterfuge, working her butt off to keep the powers-that-be chasing their tails. This was Vash the friggin' Stampede, for crying out loud! However...

The way he was looking at her now, the way Meryl's name rolled off his tongue like a prayer-- Karen felt his earnest gaze, and the fervent plea in his voice, as they worked in tandem, liquefying the insides of her chest until they dripped into her toes.

Okay. So _maybe_ she could see why Meryl kept following this guy. "Oh well," she said primly, flipping her hair in a nervous gesture, "I suppose some women just can't be happy unless they're risking their lives."

Vash sensed the change in Karen, could tell that he'd won her over to his side. Without warning, he wrapped both arms around the girl, lifting her off her feet. "Thank you, thank you!"

As the gunman spun her around in his crushing, tearful embrace, Karen's swinging toes knocked over a broom. She was positive that one or more of her coworkers were sure to hear the commotion this idiot was creating. Wouldn't it just be perfect to have Sanders or, God forbid, the chief walk in on her and a dirty-looking cowboy in the broom closet? "Put me down, you stupid jerk! What the hell kind of outlaw are you, anyway?"

"Um, sorry," Vash said sheepishly, still grinning as he set her back on her feet.

Karen rolled her eyes and pushed him out of her way. She opened the door a crack to make sure the hall was empty. "Stay here and be quiet!" she hissed, before she slipped through the half-opened door.

Vash spent five contemplative minutes in the broom closet before Karen came back to retrieve him, which was two hundred ninety-seven seconds more than his daily allotment of meditation. The subjects? Life and Love. He'd done it, found a way to get to her. Tomorrow he was going to September, to Meryl. The thought of seeing her, substantial and real in front of him, left him giddy. And that, in and of itself, made him nervous. Five minutes was long enough for him to realize that no matter what he chose, it would be wrong and selfish. It was wrong to want her in his life. It was wrong to force her out of it.

Thirty seconds before Karen returned, jerking him out of the closet and hastily down the stairwell, Vash told his brain to shut the hell up. He'd already decided to find her. For better or worse, that's what he was going to do. The rest? Well... he'd never really been one for planning ahead.

Karen forced him to abandon Eileen, promising that she'd send someone to collect the thomas. Vash would've liked to have said good-bye. Karen walked down the street at such a pace, that even with his long stride, Vash had to hustle to keep up. A glance at any wall or bus stop explained Karen's rush: There were at least six different versions of wanted posters with his photograph plastered on each one. They were good photographs, too. Even with his clothing and hair different, if someone looked closely, they'd recognize him. Vash looked at the pictures as they passed. They seemed familiar somehow.

"They're from your file at Bernardelli," Karen whispered to him, noticing the way he looked at the posters.

Vash nodded. Now he recognized them. Most had been taken by either Meryl or Millie. _That one._ He tore down the poster as they passed, staring at the image as he followed Karen down the street. _That was the time we stayed at that hotel, and a pipe burst in the girls' room so they moved down the hall to the room I was sharing with Wolfwood. Only, that stupid priest invited all those dancing girls over for a game of cards..._ The picture on the poster was cropped so that it only showed a close-up of his face. He had a necktie wrapped around his forehead, and was smiling at someone sitting to his left. He remembered that picture, remembered Wolfwood taking it. Meryl had been so angry at first, but once Millie convinced her to have a drink, or four, they'd all had so much fun. It was Meryl that Vash was smiling at in the picture. He remembered that she'd been wearing his sunglasses, and was sticking her tongue out at the camera.

That photograph, the occasion it represented, were personal. He felt a sudden stab of betrayal but quickly dismissed it. Meryl wouldn't hand something like that over to her employer for 'official' use, would she?

Vash nearly walked into Karen when she stopped. He looked up just in time to see her unlocking the front door of her apartment building, coming to a jolting halt before he collided with her petite frame. "We're here," Karen chimed, oblivious to the fact that she'd barely escaped being run over by a localized disaster.

"Karen?" Vash asked, holding up the wanted poster as he followed her into the elevator. "Why was this picture in my file at Bernardelli?"

Karen sighed, understanding why he'd be confused, as she took the poster from his hand. "Meryl doesn't work for Bernardelli, anymore."

Vash's brow creased sharply. That wasn't the reply he'd expected. "What? Why?"

"Because," Karen began matter-of-factly, "she figured out that the government was having her tailed. Not Millie... her. Meryl had Millie write a letter to Bernardelli, telling them that she'd gone rogue, that she'd severed all communication and disappeared. Thanks to some fabricated paperwork, everyone at Bernardelli, and thus everyone in the Cavalry, thinks that Millie is trying to track Meryl down."

Vash was more confused than ever. "But why would she do that?"

"God, you're dense." Karen stepped briskly out of the elevator, and motioned for him to be silent until she got her door open and ushered him inside. She stretched her arms over her head, and dropped her keys on the front table before she continued. "The military can't find you because you're like a ghost. You barely exist outside of rumors. The only concrete lead they had on you was her, so she decided to become a ghost as well. Now the only lead they have is Millie, but everyone underestimates her. I really don't think they believe they're going to be able to use her, so they're not watching her as closely as they probably should. As it is now, Millie and Meryl send me letters and I'm able to reroute them, and forge the postmarks, so that no one, aside from me, really knows where either of them are." Karen finished with a self-satisfied smile. She'd dipped into the fridge while she'd been talking, kicking off her heels as she retrieved two bottles of beer. She took a long swallow from one, and held out the other. "Thirsty?"

While Karen was calm and casual, Vash was horrified. What the hell kind of trouble had he'd gotten his girls into? Meryl quit Bernardelli? Meryl loved Bernardelli! All she ever talked about was work! His brain fished around for a loose end. "My file? The picture?"

"Oh yeah, that..." Karen frowned thoughtfully. She opened the other beer bottle on the edge of the kitchen counter and handed it to him, even though he hadn't responded when she'd offered it earlier. "The Feds decided that Meryl's abandonment of her assignment was the same thing as refusing to cooperate with a Federal investigation, so they searched her apartment here in December."

"Searched?" Vash asked suspiciously.

Karen shrugged. "Or, you know, ransacked..." Vash's gaze narrowed. She'd had a feeling he wouldn't take this very well. "Relax. She knows all about it, Mr. Typhoon. She's not happy about it, but she says she never had all that much stuff worth keeping anyway. Not like me. I mean, my shoes alone..."

"Karen."

"Sorry. Anyway, that's how her personal snapshots ended up on your wanted posters."

Vash sat down in one of the chairs in Karen's kitchen, holding the cold glass of the beer bottle against his face for a moment before taking a long pull. It seemed that Meryl had made a purposeful mess of her life in his absence. Scratch that: _because_ of his absence. "How's Millie?"

Karen smiled, pleased that she had _some_ good news to offer him. "Playing house with someone that Meryl describes as a 'chain-smoking, terrorist priest'... I believe he's a friend of yours? Anyway, they're building an orphanage on Millie's family's place in September."

"Really?" Vash smiled, imagining Wolfwood living the life of love and peace he'd always insisted was impossible.

"Yep," Karen grinned back. "Listen, do you have any money? I need to get you some clothes and a ticket for the sandsteamer. I could get it out of petty cash at work, but it would take a whole lot of paperwork to justify..."

"No. I've got money." Vash reached into his back pocket for his wallet, grateful that over the past century his twin had proven infinitely more fiscally responsible than himself. Knives had handed him just under two thousand double-dollars before he left. "Why do I need clothes?"

"Because," Karen explained as she snatched the wallet from his hand, thumbing out a substantial stack of bills, "if you're going to be traveling in public, on a sandsteamer, this whole 'desert hombre' thing you've got going on isn't going to work. We need for you to look like the polar opposite of 'Vash the Stampede'. What size do you wear, anyway?" At his confused look, she elaborated, "Shirt? Pants? Jacket?"

"Um," Vash shrugged, "tall and lanky?"

Karen released an audible, frustrated sigh, heading for her bedroom as she huffed, "Men!"

She returned with a tape measure and began stretching it across various parts of his body, pausing to write the numbers down on a scrap of paper. When she got to his inseam, Vash shifted uneasily. Karen laughed lightly, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "Shy?" she asked.

"A little, I guess," Vash replied, trying to hold still. When she shook her head and laughed again, he asked, "What?"

"Sorry. Nothing, really," she said, rising and writing down the last figure. "You're just not at all what I imagined."

"I, uh..." Vash didn't know if that should be taken as a complement. "I get that a lot."

"Karen put the slip of paper into her purse and grabbed her keys. "You can shower in the bathroom attached to my bedroom. And you should try and get some sleep. You look beat."

"Thanks. Do you have an extra blanket? I'll crash on your couch."

Karen hesitated, blushing slightly. "Actually, you're better off in my bed. I, uh, don't really have anything for you to sleep in, and well, you'll have more privacy if you stay in my room. I'm up half the night with paperwork anyway, so the couch is where I end up sleeping more often than not."

"Oh," Vash started uncomfortably. It would be awkward sleeping naked in a strange woman's bed, but on the other hand, he had been wearing the same pair of underwear for six days and wasn't thrilled with the idea of putting them back on after finally getting a shower. "If you're sure..."

"Yup!" Karen said brightly. "It's no trouble at all."

"Thank you," he sighed, the layer of grime on the back of his neck suddenly more irksome as visions of hot water and soap already began running through his mind.

It took several hours for Karen to finish her errands. She was lucky to find that there were still a few first class cabins available on the next morning's sandsteamer. First class meant discretion and privacy. She'd eat her hat if someone managed to recognize him in that setting. She'd also gone to the tailor's where she'd chosen a suit, simple navy, nothing flashy. She'd picked out a shirt and tie while she was waiting for the alterations to be made according to the measurements she'd written down earlier. She knew that she was supposed to make him look nondescript, but Karen was a girl who loved to shop, and while she'd been able to rein herself into the purchase of a plain white shirt, the tie was an entirely different matter. This was the first time Meryl was going to see him in months, and as her friend, Karen reasoned that she was all but obligated to make sure he looked sharp. So, French blue, rich patterned silk, not the same color as his eyes (Karen had always found anything too matchy to be a bit gauche), but close enough to set them off.

Karen returned to her darkened apartment, immensely pleased with herself. Not only had she been permitted the rationally justifiable expenditure of a large sum of money, but she had managed to select for Vash a new set of threads that was all but guaranteed to knock Meryl on her ass. The list of favors that girl was going to owe her had just increased exponentially.

She stepped out of her shoes, hung up the clothes, and walked into the living room. She was restless. That, and curious. What could it hurt to take one little peek? It wasn't like he didn't have blankets in there. He'd be covered... right?

_You're a terrible friend! What would Meryl say?_ But her hand was already on the doorknob, and it was, after all, her bedroom, and she was therefore free to look at anything that might be sleeping in it. She pushed the door in slowly, holding her breath as it hissed against the carpet. Four full moons meant a bright spill of multi-toned light through the window, gently illuminating the man who slept on his back, his head turned to the side, mouth slightly parted as he took slow, deep breaths. One arm curled across his waist where the sheets were bunched, while the other reached over his head in a soft arch.

The first thing Karen noticed, oddly enough, was his expression. He had one of those faces that relaxed completely in sleep, giving him a look of innocent abandon matched only by children. Eventually, Karen's eyes strayed to the rest of what there was to see. It took a moment, her eyes not quite making sense of what she was looking at, until... In a pinpoint of clarity, the scars finally came into focus. How had she not seen them right away? She covered her mouth, refusing to let the gasp escape. She stepped backward, gently closing to door. And only when she'd walked several paces away, after she'd collapsed heavily onto her sofa, did she allow the startled cry to be absorbed by the pillow she held to her face.

How? What kind of life did someone have to live to suffer that kind of mutilation? That deformity? Karen could feel her whole body trembling at the horror of it. _Oh, God! Meryl? What have you gotten involved in?_

In Karen's bedroom, Vash opened his eyes. He could hear Karen now, her muffled sobs and gasps. He'd felt her when she entered the room, knew the moment she realized what she was looking at. He stared up at a ceiling that was as blank and cold as his own expression, his thumb grazing his stomach, idly tracing a raised pattern of deformed flesh.

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**2nd A/N: **_WTF!? Where's my Vash/Meryl reunion, you sheisty witch!?_-- Well, at least that's what I imagine you may be thinking. Answer: soon :) ...so, like, stay tuned and whatnot. 


	12. A Weakness Coming On

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox (that's right... I needed 3 whole betas for this chapter: the pressure was on.)  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/who cares? It's the VxM reunion!  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:** Trigun, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last time: Legendary gunman? Absolutely. Legendary cowboy? Not so much. Despite his inability to ride a thomas (and how the hell has he managed to avoid picking up that skill on Gunsmoke?), Vash was able to make his way to December. This did not please Karen, who'd been trying very hard to keep his whereabouts a secret. (Vash has a certain flair with women. And by 'flair', I mean, 'ability to piss off'.) But, damn his good looks and endearing arsenal of smiles, he was able to win her over and she agreed to help. Oh well, I suppose some women just can't help themselves when it comes to 'tall, blond, and emo'. We also learned that Meryl quit Bernardelli and has gone into hiding to prevent the Federation from using her to find Vash. Thanks to some help from Karen, the Cavalry has no idea where she is. Looking for clues, they searched her December apartment, but apparently all they received for their efforts were a few snapshots of Vash being a goof. (Be careful, kids: you never know when that picture of you playing beer-pong at Homecoming will end up on your wanted posters.) Karen offered Vash her shower and her bedroom while she ran out to spend his (well, actually, _Knives'_ ) money. Vash got a first-class cabin on the sandsteamer and a new suit, cuz every girl's crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man (just ask ZZ Top). When Karen got home, she had to sneak a peak (admit it: you would have, if you were her) and was shocked/repulsed when she saw the scars. Maybe that's why it's something Vash doesn't usually like young ladies to see.

**A/N: **The title of this chapter is derived from a song: "The Walk" by Imogen Heap, which I feel is a very Vash/Meryl kind of tune. Now, I may be running the risk of traveling into 'songfic' territory here (which is not for me), but I can't help but share a few lines from the song, in case you are not familiar (it will give more flavor to the title): "I feel a weakness coming on. It's not meant to be like this. It's not what I planned at all. I don't want to feel like this. So, that makes it all your fault." Ay, me... Vash and Meryl: forever proving that nothing says 'I love you' like smashing your head against a wall of denial. And while we're treading dangerous 'songfic' territory, I will say that I hate inserting specific music into my writing... however! I did have a particular tune pop into my head when I described a song in this chapter. Normally, I would keep that as my little secret, but... we're all friends here! It's fanfiction! So, if you'd like a little mood music when you get to that scene, you can cue up Michael Bublé's cover of Ray Charles' "You Don't Know Me"... or not. That's just what my brain decided to play.

Additionally, I was so freaking nervous about writing this chapter. I want to thank the betas who held my hand through it. You know? I think it might have come out half-way decent. Enjoy! And review!!!

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**Chapter 12: A Weakness Coming On**

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Meryl watched the festivities of Vince and Abby's reception with restless longing. Up until twenty minutes ago, she'd been enjoying the party with the rest of the guests. Now, she was cornered, being held captive by great aunt Cecilia as the elderly Thompson complained about her sciatica in agonizing detail. Or, was it her psoriasis? At this point, Meryl couldn't really say. She didn't have it in her to be so rude as to walk away, but she had tuned out the older woman's droning a good fifteen minutes ago. 

Meryl continued to smile and nod, realizing that she could at least watch the party without Cecilia noticing her inattention. Her eyes made a slow pass across the activity partially sheltered by canopy. There had to be over three-hundred guests. Meryl observed the little gatherings and conversations at small tables, the long sidebars covered with food and flowers.

The wedding itself had been at sunset, and the reception was now illuminated entirely by candles, paper lanterns, and strings of small white lights. The draping canopy had been erected in the garden where the ceremony had been held, but a party of this size couldn't be contained within the space. Grass and moss softly gave way to the stretching horizon of desert, where four nearly full moons hung low in the sky, bathing the revelers who'd spilled out onto the sand in gentle light.

Her eyes paused on the familiar outline of Nicholas Wolfwood. He was having what appeared to be a rather heated debate with the elderly priest who had performed the marriage. The older man was waving a hand in front of his face to dispel the cloud of smoke Wolfwood breathed in his direction, while Wolfwood gestured emphatically with a cigarette laden set of fingers, apparently arguing a point. Meryl was jealous. At least their 'conversation' seemed a hell of a lot more interesting than the one she was having.

Meryl huffed impatiently, and was disappointed when Cecilia failed to notice. She really should just walk away. The crazy old lady had nearly knocked her to the ground earlier. Granted, Meryl hadn't attended many weddings, but she was confident in her conclusion that there had never been a person more intent on catching a bouquet than great aunt Cecilia. Perhaps it was because she was at least seventy and had never been married... but, good God! Was it really necessary to throw elbows?

Meryl had wanted no part in the bouquet toss. She was far too dignified to dive and push for a bundle of flowers. And God forbid she did catch the thing, there was no way she was going to allow a stranger to slide a garter up her thigh. So, how exactly did she end up on the floor with the rest of the single women? The Thompson girls (both those by birthright, and the newest via matrimony) had devised a plan for ensuring it was Millie who ended up with a handful of posies. Somehow, this plan required Meryl to run interference on great aunt Cecilia, which (when Meryl had been assigned the task) had seemed positively silly. Of course, that was before Cecilia made her move and nearly tackled Meryl to the ground like a varsity lineman.

Meryl rubbed her sore hip as she remembered, but the older woman was still blathering away, oblivious to the glare Meryl hadn't been able to keep herself from delivering. Maybe Cecilia was just playing dumb. Perhaps this was some kind of revenge, considering that in the end, the bouquet had landed in Millie's hands.

Now, the garter toss: _That_ had been hilarious. Nearly worth getting beat on by an old lady. After the success of their plan, Millie's sister, Margaret, had turned to Meryl and whispered, "Now, how do we make sure that Nicky gets the garter?"

The wry smile had been irrepressible. "Oh... I wouldn't worry about that," she'd replied.

Of course, Millie's brothers and cousins were out of the running. But they had friends, and Abby had six brothers of her own. Meryl had looked on with amusement as approximately thirty men took the floor. As if they had a chance.

Wolfwood had been standing a bit towards the edge of the crowd. His weight was distributed with casual disregard to one hip, his shoulders slumped with hands in pockets, cigarette dangling from his lip. His face was perfectly lax, and he even had his eyes closed.

A hissing murmur of outrage had gone up amongst the bridesmaids. Why did it seem like Millie's boyfriend didn't give a crap who caught the garter? Meryl knew, however, that Millie wasn't the least bit concerned about the possibility of a stranger slipping that ring of lace up her long leg. As the frilly, elastic bauble went up in the air, Wolfwood's only movement was a wink he sent in Millie's direction.

A flurry of various suit-clad limbs momentarily blocked Meryl's view, but as the swell of hopeful men subsided, she'd had no doubt as to what would meet her eyes: Wolfwood stood, cigarette still burning, his expression cool indifference defined. One hand was still casually thrust in a pocket, but he held the other aloft, the garter twirling lazily around his pointer finger.

Judging by the looks on the faces of the other would-be garter-seekers, they had no idea what had hit them. Their stunned silence was broken by Millie's enthusiastic cheer of, "Way to go, honey!" The priest, it seemed, had retrieved that garter with extreme prejudice.

That's actually how Meryl had ended up in her latest predicament: she'd been laughing so hard that she hadn't noticed Cecilia's stealth approach until she was already captive. _Now, if only someone would..._

"Sempai!" Millie grabbed Meryl's wrists, her smiling face blocking great aunt Cecilia from view. "There you are! You have to come and dance!"

Cecilia looked like she might object, but Millie breezed by her with a goofy smile, leading a grateful Meryl by the hand. "Thank God, Millie. I didn't know how much more I could take," she whispered.

Millie leaned toward her friend, linking their arms as they walked. "I would have gotten you out sooner, but I had to save Father Allen from Nicholas."

Meryl laughed, following Millie as she stepped onto the dance floor. The bridesmaids, in pink gowns identical to Millie's, were dancing in a circle with Abby at their center, linking arms as they spun, giggling and smiling. Meryl tried to decline as Millie made space for them in the ring, but Millie's arm was still hooked around her elbow, and Meryl found herself being carried along for the ride.

For the first time in months, Meryl was truly enjoying herself. She gave herself over to the energy of the party, of the people around her. She allowed herself to believe in the new beginnings promised by such an occasion. Allowed the secondhand feelings of joy and hope to become her own.

She noticed the figure the first time the rotation of the dance brought it into view. It seemed odd for a guest to be standing alone in the sand, apart from everyone else. On the second pass, she broke out of the ring. Meryl told herself it was a mistake, the result of wishful thinking. She stared hard, disbelieving, but the recognition was so _real_, and...

"Sempai?" All of the women had stopped moving. Confused by Meryl's serious expression, they followed her gaze, finding the tall delineation of a man standing motionless in the desert. "Oh my God," Millie gasped, as her eyes landed on the same figure they were all staring at.

It was all Meryl needed. Millie saw him, too. He was real. She took off, not caring how she looked as she left the dance floor and her heels stuck in the grass. She kicked them off as she stumbled, and broke into a full run. In the dark, she couldn't make out the man's face, but... it was him.

Vash had been watching her for the last ten minutes. Since Millie had pulled her away from the older lady that looked as though she'd been talking her ear off. He'd been waiting so long to see her, and now that he'd found her, he couldn't seem to move. She looked so happy, so alive. He felt as though his intrusion would break the spell, somehow disrupt the perfection that was Meryl twirling in a sapphire dress, her eyes bright, her laughter easy.

Had she always been this beautiful? Had he somehow failed to recognize it? Or was it merely because he was on the outside now? Because he couldn't be certain she'd smile like that for him? In that moment, he wasn't very proud of himself. Hunting the elusive mayfly known as love? _What a hypocrite._ That particular bug had been buzzing around his head for a long time now, within arm's reach, and he... well, he was standing alone in the sand, watching her, really _seeing_ her for the first time, because he was most likely about to lose her.

He might have stood there all night: unwilling to leave, but unable to go to her. But she saw him. He could tell she wasn't certain at first. The smile had fallen away, her entire body tensing as her slender eyebrows knotted sharply above her eyes. He'd wanted to call to her, to at least raise his hand in some sort of greeting. But a sudden fear froze him. He almost wished he could just disappear.

Since the day he'd run from Knives, made the break that necessitated the abandonment of his twin, it had been his connection to humanity that had kept Vash going. Over the years there had been plenty of people who had loved him, at least in the abstract. Loved the idea of him. But, there were a handful of human beings who had managed to know him well enough to truly care for him. The girls, Max, the Doc, Lina and Grandma Sheryl, even Wolfwood in his begrudging, and often violent, manner. And Vash loved them, was in love with humanity as a larger concept, something that was meant to keep Rem alive in his heart and mind. He felt the pull of affection even for strangers, even for those who sought to somehow harm him. But, Vash realized, he'd never _really_ allowed himself to be loved. Not since Rem. And his connection to every human being that had entered his life since had been carefully guarded, dulled by the dishonesty that he'd always felt was necessary for their safety. And yes, for his own safety, as well.

As he watched Meryl sprint towards him, he was seized by an acute fear linked with the sudden knowledge that yes, he loved her, but that feeling was more personal than anything he'd felt prior. The ache he felt in his chest, nearly threatening to double him over, had nothing to do with her _humanness_, and everything to do with _her._

She came to a halting stop in front of him, her eyes fixed and wide. Her confusion was laced with increasing concern and uncertainty as he failed to move, failed to speak. He'd never been more aware of his strangeness, his _otherness._ He thought about the irony, the pathetic hypocrisy inherent in the fact that he preached Peace and was yet, by his very nature, half of the greatest threat ever posed to the continued survival of the human race. Weapons, tools of War, hung all around him: the colt, the machine gun in his left arm, the atomic bomb that was the very fibre of his right.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, as ashamed as he was, watching as her face began to show signs that she anticipated his rejection. She was wearing a tea-length evening gown, the jewel-toned teal of the fabric looking impossibly soft, draping away from her hips where it fell to handkerchief hemlines by her knees. The wind tossed the garment into fluttering disarray around the solidness of her legs, her bare feet stained green where she'd run through the grass. Her hair had grown longer: piecey, feminine strands that tickled the nape of her neck. Her bangs imitated the motion of the dress, tossing themselves in a rolling pattern across her forehead, around her flushed cheeks.

"Vash?"

She sounded so uncertain, even afraid. He hated to see her like that: vulnerable, fragile. Hated that he was the cause.

"Meryl, I..." His voice came out choked, pathetically lacking the strength and reassurance he'd hoped for. But Vash didn't know that strength wasn't required. For her, the very sound of her name on his tongue was enough to shatter the invisible wall between them.

She threw herself at him, forcing him to catch her in his arms. His name was a sob that escaped her throat, her tears wet and real on his neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he murmured, though he wasn't sure exactly what he was apologizing for. Whether it was for things he'd done, hadn't done, things he wanted, or would someday do or fail to do. He found himself on his knees, her hands in his hair as he gripped her hips, buried his face against her stomach. "Meryl, I've missed you so much," he desperately confessed. "I didn't realize how much..."

Meryl shut her eyes against the sudden swell of uncounted emotions, competing for attention within her every cell. How could he do this to her? Just show up out of the ether and make her feel like this? "You're such a bastard, Vash," she said weakly. "You promised me Knives wouldn't wake up. You promised you wouldn't get shot. You lied about Wolfwood being dead! You... you've been missing for months!"

"I know. I know," he muttered against her, the sound of crying evident in his voice. His grip on her hips tightened with each accusation.

Meryl dropped to the sand in front of him, wrapping her arms around his chest with fervent abandon. She nestled her face in the curve of his neck. "Vash, I don't care! You're alive, broomhead! I don't care about the rest of it."

He pushed her gently back, and took her face in both of his hands. His watercolor eyes soft and unsteady, he asked: "Forgive me?" not believing that she would, or could. Feeling selfish for even daring to hope. Meryl knew this as she knew him, and the familiarity of the scene brought on a flash of the nightmare she'd had before waking to find him gone.

"Anything," she assured, the strength of her vow in her eyes as she met his gaze. "Always."

His shoulders slumped, his eyes closing as a grateful, shuddering breath escaped his throat. She felt his fingers as they slipped through her hair, curling gently at the back of her head as he drew her towards him.

"Mr. Vash, right?" The couple turned sharply at Millie's middle big brother's exclamation. A quick scan revealed that a small crowd had gathered around the pair.

"Frank!" Millie hissed, punching her brother in the arm.

"Cheating bastard!" Vince added. "No throwing the bet!"

Millie glared meaningfully at her little big brother, mortified by his outburst.

Meryl and Vash hastily rose from the sand. Both looked embarrassed, Meryl a bit more so, considering that she'd been made well aware of 'the bet' during her time in September.

"Spikey!" The priest approached, grinning with open arms. Vash smiled, expecting a hug, but receiving a punch to the gut instead.

"What was that for!" Vash demanded by way of a gasp, doubled over at the point of impact.

"For shooting me! And for being generally needle-noggin-ish." Wolfwood smirked, but the expression was more warm than derisive, indicating that he considered their score settled, and further throttling unnecessary.

"Good to see you, too, preacher man," Vash greeted sarcastically, a moment before Millie launched herself into his arms.

"Oh, Mr. Vash! I'm so happy to see you! It seems like we've been trying to find you forever!" Vash smiled, wincing slightly, as the crushing strength of Millie's embraces seemed to run parallel to how pleased she was to see the person she was hugging.

"Big girl! I'm really sorry to have made you worry."

"Well, I just don't believe it! Could this really be Vash the Stampede?" Nathaniel had stepped through the crowd, his over-bearing presence effectively taking complete control of the reunion. All too quickly, Vash found himself overwhelmed by a horde of Thompsons, people who had been waiting a _long_ time to meet him.

Meryl stood dumbfounded as she watched Vash being drawn towards the canopy, propelled by the river of wedding guests and family. _That's it?_

Millie placed a knowing hand on her friend's shoulder, her thumb gently kneading at the growing tension she found there. "Don't worry, Sempai," she smiled. "They'll give him back eventually. And then...!"

"I know, I know..." Meryl interrupted. She followed Vash's departing form with her eyes and sighed. "... I can go nuts on him," she grumbled.

Millie smiled in broad approval and skipped off into the fray of the party.

It was another hour before Meryl had the chance to speak with Vash again. She spent the time alternating between breathless anticipation, irritated apprehension, and ineffectual attempts at convincing herself of her indifference.

Eventually, he found her scowling by the dregs of the punch bowl, as one of Abby's brothers fruitlessly attempted to engage her in conversation. "I'm sorry," he heard her apologize. "What did you just say? I missed it."

"Hey," Vash interjected, and with one look at how her attention immediately focused on the blond, Abby's brother gave up in the middle of a sentence. Vash grinned, and if either of them noticed Abby's brother as he sulked away, neither made any indication. "Say, insurance girl, am I imagining things, or do you have that look about you?" Meryl laughed as he nodded in the direction of the dance floor.

The band had taken up an old Earth song. The drums were a whispering patter on the high hat, the guitar a bluesy stumble matched by the gentle roll of a piano. The singer's voice managed to be both breathy and rich, echoed by the soft strains of a string quartet.

"I'm not an 'insurance girl', anymore," she smiled as she took his hand. "I'm a rogue agent."

Vash frowned as he placed his other hand on the small of her back, settling into the gentle rhythm of the dance. "Yeah, I heard that."

"Ah," she said in understanding. "So Karen told you where to find us."

"You shouldn't have done that," he said seriously.

The gaze she fixed him with narrowed. "_You_ shouldn't have come looking for me."

He managed to look contrite. "Sorry 'bout that. I figured you'd be mad, but... well, I never really listen to you, do I?"

"No. You don't." Her voice was stern, but her eyes sparkled with laughter, and he found he couldn't help but smile. As she looked at him, her brow furrowed in sudden recognition. "What the hell are you wearing? And what did you do to your hair?"

Vash had had three days to get used to the suit. It fit him perfectly, but he couldn't get over the feeling that he was wearing a costume. At Meryl's question, he felt infinitely more awkward and self-conscious. He freed the hand that was held in hers and touched his hair. Karen had managed to tame it with some sort of styling product that resembled mud, but he had so far been unable to recreate her result. It was a piecey, tousled disaster. "You don't like it?" he asked sadly.

Meryl held both his hands and took a long step back, giving his appearance a serious appraisal as he nervously fidgeted. It was a damn good suit, and expensive from the looks of it. _Thank you, Karen. _The golden, broomheaded spikes, even cropped, managed to stick practically straight up in most places. But it was softer, falling in various little swirls and dips that she found... charming.

"Wow. You look..." she breathed, and he held his breath in anticipation, "...completely ridiculous." His face fell and she began to laugh, pulling his arm back around her so they could continue their dance. "I'm kidding, dummy!" she teased, and felt him relax a little. "You look great. You just don't... look like you. But... I really like your hair."

"Yours, too," he smiled. "You look really... You look beautiful, Meryl."

She blushed and was glad he couldn't see her face against his chest. "You think so?"

"Oh, yeah," he affirmed, but was instantly embarrassed by how worshipful his voice sounded. He quickly covered with a joke: "Guess you can't call me 'broomhead' anymore."

She laughed. "I will _always_ call you 'broomhead'."

He sighed in mock-dejection. "Yeah, I kinda figured that."

They fell silent, but it was comfortable between them. Vash had always had better luck with Meryl when he kept his mouth shut. They danced with a slow ease, the song beautiful but vaguely sad. Despite her usually unbending independence, Vash found that Meryl was easy to lead, anticipating steps before he took them. She turned her head so that her ear was over his heart, her body a warm, relaxed line against his chest, her weight lithe and pliable in his arms.

As the song came to its end, the singer's final note suspended in the air, Vash closed his eyes. If only he could commit every detail of the moment to memory. Maybe then, it would never end. He felt Meryl stiffen slightly in his arms and dreaded the words he knew she was about to say. The music stopped and she pulled away, asking, "Where's Knives?"

He stepped away from her disappointedly, a sharp grip of sadness around his heart as he appraised the worried lines of her expression. "Let's find somewhere to sit down," he suggested. "This might take awhile."

* * *

Knives was not worried about Vash. Nor did he miss his sibling in the least. He'd spent the better part of a century without him, and a few weeks at his brother's side was no reason to suddenly start longing for his companionship. Vash was annoying, irritating, whiny and adolescent. It was certainly more peaceful without that dolt around. If Vash felt compelled to seek out his human bitch, Knives certainly didn't care. 

"_Jealous, Knives?" -- _He remembered the knowing smirk Vash's pet had worn as she'd spoken the words, and felt a bloom of rage. _Fuck that. _He wasn't jealous. Of a human? _Ridiculous._

Furthermore, his absolute disdain for the human race was perfectly intact. He ate the meals the prattling insect called 'Jessica' prepared because she was a decent cook. He played shogi with the Doc because he was bored. He was standing in the cold-sleep chamber because...

Now that one was more difficult to rationalize. Knives pushed his hands deeper into his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders forward so that more of the warmth of the garment was pressed around his face. His breath came out in chilled, white clouds as he walked the rows of sleeping humans.

He remembered what this had been like when he was a child. He'd been so naïve, telling Vash that little differences were easily overcome. Once the humans awoke, they'd all be friends. Everything would be peachy with a side of keen.

And Vash had been the skeptic. He'd always appraised the sleeping faces with wary eyes, never really believing in the utopia Knives promised. _When did those roles reverse?_

Knives wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible for Vash to be such an infuriatingly blind optimist. They'd disfigured him, and yet his sentimentality for the species only seemed to grow.

He paused before a single chamber. The girl inside was young, maybe ten or twelve years old. Her shoulder-length blond hair hung in frozen perfection around her laxed, delicate features. What had she been like? What had she been expecting to find on the other side of her sleep? Did she dream?

There was a certain beauty to humans when they were like this: suspended between life and death, but without violence, in a state of perfect calm. Knives could see why he'd been drawn to them so long ago. When they slept, one couldn't see the inherent misery, the cruelty.

He touched the glass above her face. If only they could have stayed sleeping. If only he'd never found out the truth. He felt the weight of his duty, the fate he'd been bound to when the illusion had dissolved. What a terrible purpose. What a lonely road. He frowned deeply as he thought of Vash. _Bastard. Why did you leave it all up to me?_

* * *

A good number of the wedding guests were booked into hotels in downtown September. Still, the Thompson house was filled to capacity. Wolfwood, Millie and Meryl had all given up their bedrooms in the main house. Vash found himself sharing a room in the nearly completed orphanage with Wolfwood, the girls down the hall. 

He turned to the priest, who was smoking in bed, his suit thrown haphazardly across the back of a chair. Vash had hung his up, feeling that if Karen somehow found out he'd left it in a heap, she'd find and throttle him.

"Why?" Vash was asking. He wanted to know why the priest had agreed to return to New Oregon with him.

"Well," Wolfwood began, exhaling a lazy cloud, "I think you should have killed him. But that's one decision I can't make."

"I can't kill him, Wolfwood. I need him. I can't explain why, but if I ended his life, I think I'd have to follow."

Wolfwood sighed in irritation. "I'd forgotten how dramatic you can be. Anyway, I've resigned myself to the fact that my fate's bound to yours. As senseless as you are, I've got no choice."

Vash frowned. "You always have a choice."

The priest shrugged noncommittally. "That's one of the many points on which we disagree. Let's just leave it at that. I'm kinda beat and I'd rather not fight."

Vash wanted to press the topic, but decided to let it go. He really didn't want a fight either. They tended to turn physical, and Wolfwood knew quite a few nasty submission holds. "You seem happy here," he said instead, then smirked, "You've been domesticated."

Wolfwood chuckled. "Ain't that something? You know, this Love and Peace shit isn't so bad."

"Told ya," Vash grinned. "You really don't have to leave, you know."

"Dammit, Spikey! Don't start that shit again! I said I didn't want to fight."

The priest smoothly regained his calm following the outburst, laying back down on the arms he crossed behind his head. He closed his eyes with a sense of finality on the subject.

"So you've been here, what? Two, three months?" Vash asked.

Wolfwood cracked open one eye to look at the gunman, suspicious of his playful tone. "Yeah. And?"

"Well, I couldn't help but notice that your room in the house is all the way down the hall from Millie's. Past her parents'. How's that working out?"

Wolfwood quirked a surprised eyebrow at Vash. _Slick bastard. That's not like him._ "Spikey," he replied seriously, "you can't imagine that I have anything but complete respect for Millie's parents, can you? I would _never _do anything to jeopardize their trust in me..."

"Floorboards creak, huh?"

"No matter where I step," Wolfwood dryly admitted.

Vash laughed, and Wolfwood took a moment to appreciate its genuine nature. "Sometimes this whole thing is just so _normal_ it feels bizarre. It almost doesn't seem real, like I'm living someone else's life."

"It's a good life," Vash reassured. "It's yours if you want it."

Wolfwood waved his hand dismissively, and looked like he was about to respond, but they were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door as it was simultaneously opened. "Hello?" Millie said as she popped her head inside. "Everyone decent?"

The priest grinned warmly at her appearance. "Honey, I've never been decent."

"Millie. What are you doing here?" Vash asked.

Millie smiled at Vash before turning to Wolfwood with a smirk. "What does it look like? I'm sneaking down the hall into my boyfriend's room."

"Bad girl," Wolfwood leered, and Vash's discomfort at the intimacy of the statement soon dissolved as he found himself being dragged towards the door by the priest.

"Wait!" Vash protested, trying to halt his stumbling gait as the priest jerked him off balance. "Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"There's an extra bed in Meryl's room," Millie offered.

"No no no!" Vash cried. "You guys can't do this to me!"

"Already done, Tongari," Wolfwood stated matter-of-factly as he pushed Vash through the door frame.

"Wolfwood!" Vash pleaded. "Mercy! What kind of churchman are you?!"

Wolfwood kept one hand on the door, but raised the other in a pious gesture in front of his chest. "May you go with the grace and protection of the Almighty."

"Wolf..." but the door had already been slammed unceremoniously in his face.

On the other side of the door he could hear Millie call, "Good luck, Mr. Vash! Don't make Sempai cry!"

He stood for a moment in the hallway. He was wearing the only set of pajamas he owned, and at this point they had to be nearly thirty years old. The long-sleeved jersey and drawstring bottoms were ratty and threadbare. It was a hot night. At least he hadn't decided to sleep in his boxers.

He scowled, deciding that he'd never forgive Wolfwood for this one. And, if at all possible, he was mad at Millie, too. _Lousy friends they turned out to be. _He started down the hall, praying to everything merciful in the universe, that Meryl was already asleep.

He turned the doorknob and cracked open the door as quietly as possible. Obviously, the universe was against him as well, as Meryl was sitting at a desk in her nightshirt, her head turning as he entered.

"Vash," she started, surprised. "What are you...?" Realization flitted across her face and her expression contorted into a disapproving scowl. "Where's Millie?"

_Probably rounding second-base, _Vash thought, but kept it to himself. "She, er... well, Wolfwood... Can I stay here?" he blurted out.

Meryl rolled her eyes. "Traitors," she muttered. She smiled at him then, but it seemed a bit nervous and forced. "Of course you can stay here. That's Millie's bed on the right."

Vash sighed his relief as he sat down on the bed. Meryl turned back to her typewriter, rereading what she'd already composed before starting to type again.

"What are you working on?" Vash asked, feeling awkward with only the clacking noises of the machine in the air.

"I'm writing to Karen, to let her know you got here okay, and to chew her out for telling you where to find me."

Vash grinned. "Don't be too hard on her. I'm very persuasive, you know. It's all that boyish charm I've got."

"Yeah right, broomhead. I know sandworms that are better with women than you are." She regretted the statement the moment it left her mouth, as it left them both feeling uncomfortable. "I didn't mean..."

Vash chuckled nervously, "No, you're right. Wolfwood says I'm a hopeless cause."

"Oh really?" Meryl quirked a curious brow. "What else does Wolfwood say?"

For the briefest of moments Vash considered consulting her on the meanings behind Wolfwood's metaphors regarding women, but luckily his brain-to-mouth filter seemed to be functioning, and he shrugged instead. "I try not to pay too much attention to what he says."

Meryl laughed. "That's probably wise. Anyway, I'm also sending Karen a report under Millie's name that will make Bernardelli think she's trying to track me down in the outer Palliden region."

Vash frowned. "Why are you doing that?"

"So they'll have a harder time finding us, of course."

"No... I mean, why are you doing this? All of this?"

Meryl forced herself to look at him. Did he really not know? "To protect you, Vash."

"Why?" he pleaded.

Meryl felt the beginnings of tears and turned away. "That's a stupid question."

"I don't think so." Vash rose from the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders to turn her. "I've been thinking a lot, and... see, you're really important to me. I..." _God, I'm an idiot with words. I'm going to say something stupid. I just know it. _"The thing is, I really missed you, and... I think..."

"Stop it, Vash." Meryl pushed his hands away and rose from the desk, walking a few steps away so that she could face the corner, everything but the outline of her back hidden from his view. "You don't owe me anything, okay?"

Vash took a step after her and hesitated, confused. "Owe you?"

Meryl felt the heat in her face, wondered if her ears were red beneath her hair. She took a deep breath and blurted, "I know the type of women you seem to... react to, and they're, well... all blond and tall and shapely..."

Vash laughed as he took another step toward her. She was insecure? "Hey, if I want to see 'tall, blond, and shapely' all I have to do is look in a mirror..."

"Vash," she warned, turning on him with arms crossed, her expression irritated but nakedly sensitive. He softened; her insecurity didn't seem so funny once he realized it was a result of the casual way he'd often disregarded her.

"C'mon," he said, drawing her towards the room's chest of drawers, a mirror suspended above.

"Vash," she protested, "what are you...?"

"Just shut up, would ya?" He turned her so her back was against his chest, facing them so they could see their reflections. "Okay, I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, but just try to relax and don't be scared. This may feel a little funny."

Meryl felt a twinge of alarm at the cryptic warning. She opened her mouth to complain, but shut it again as her perception of her own reflection began to subtly shift.

Suddenly, she seemed to glow. Not literally, but in the way that certain people are just radiant. Her skin was flawless, lambent porcelain. Her hair a soft, shiny curtain flirting with the slender arch of her eyebrows. The color of her eyes came into breathtaking, detailed focus. The pale slate near the pupil blending into a delicate lavender, rimmed at the edge of the iris with the dark smoke of an angry cloud. Her lashes were a black, feathery frame. Her eyes, her mouth, the bones of her face, were delicate and strong, a paradox that was sublimely beautiful in its balance. The frame of her body was lithe and long, despite her petite stature, the strength and grace of a dancer and a warrior, all at once. Her gaze trailed down the length of her neck, to the more-than-appealing curve of her shoulder, the slim perfection of her collarbone. There was the subtlest hint of a blush in her cheeks that repeated itself on her chest, its rosy glow disappearing into the open 'V' of her nightshirt.

Meryl was confused at first. Wondered why she was practically leering at herself in open awe, until she registered the tickle of his presence in the back of her mind. _Vash._ She met his gaze in the mirror as he draped his arm across her chest. He watched her in the mirror, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder, and she realized that what she was seeing was how _he_ saw her. It was his perception of her projected into her mind.

It could have felt invasive. And normally, Meryl would have been furious with him for tampering with her mind. But his presence there was gentle and light, tremulous at first, but growing in strength as he flexed the unpracticed ability. She could feel that her thoughts were her own. He hadn't forced himself in, like it had been with Knives. What he was sharing left him more unguarded than her. And what she saw through his eyes...

Meryl quickly turned away, facing him with a desperate sadness. "Vash, we can't."

He nodded, offered her the smallest of smiles. "I know."

She wiped roughly at the tears that had begun to fall of their own accord. God, but she hated to cry. "It's impossible. You're..."

"I know," he said again, his logical mind suppressing the part that wanted to tell her he didn't care. "I just... I wanted you to know..."

Everything about him was gentle. He looked so honest, so assailable... "I'm sorry," he said, and she couldn't look at him anymore.

"Me too," she replied, stepping out of the circle of his arms. She went to her bed and switched off the light. "I'm going to sleep."

"Okay." His voice was emotionless in the dark and Meryl felt her gut tighten with regret as she curled into the sheets.

Vash tried not to think, not to feel. Just got into bed and rolled over to face the wall. He couldn't say he was disappointed or surprised, as he'd never really had a plan or expectations to go along with it. This was for the best. Meryl deserved more, and even just showing her what he had at the mirror had been close to the most selfish thing he'd ever done. He would take her presence in his life in whatever way he could, for as long as he could. He would find a way to be content with that.

After a few minutes he heard the rustle of Meryl's sheets, and turned in surprise as he felt his bed bend under her weight. "Meryl...?" but she placed a hand softly over his mouth.

"Be quiet, broomhead," she whispered. "If you say anything you'll just ruin it."

He nodded and she removed her hand. She slipped beneath his sheets, her limbs tangling with his as she curled around him. She laid her head on his chest with a gentle sigh, her arm circling his waist. Soon, the warmth of her body seeped through their clothing, and he could feel the weight of each curve and limb against him. His arm was threaded through the empty space her waist left against the mattress, coming around to hold her, his artificial hand resting on her hip. His other arm came naturally across them, hand settling at the back of her neck, his thumb on the nape.

For Meryl, the world became a pinpoint on that thumb. It found a little curve of bone above her shoulders and brushed back and forth across it in a gentle rhythm. But she could feel such desperation in the action, a non-existent tremor that betrayed what the rest of him wanted.

She closed her eyes, allowed herself to feel the tremble of energy between them, but not allowing herself to give into it. Who was she being more cruel to: Vash, or herself? But after what she'd seen, despite the futility of the circumstance, Meryl needed something. A part of her knew it had been an imprudent impulse to follow, but the part of her that didn't care won. She forced logical thought from her mind, damning the consequences as she focused on that ardent thumb, allowing herself a measure of contentment as she drifted off to sleep.


	13. Potential Energy

**Title:**_After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox (goddess trio)  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/nope, still not telling  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:**_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last time: Last time: Huzzah! Millie's brother got hitched, and wouldn't you know who crashed the party? Well, Vash of course. Thus ensued the long-anticipated Vash/Meryl reunion. As you know, those two are more angsty than a Dashboard Confessional album. And so, they danced around each other and the nature of their would-be/could-be relationship like a pair of nervous pit fighters. It looked as though Vash might actually make a move, but wouldn't you know it: Millie's brother had to open his big-fat mouth, successfully ruining the moment and throwing the bet. (You remember 'the bet', don't you? Chapter two?) Meanwhile, Knives got nostalgic in a cold-sleep chamber, and decided that he doesn't really mind humans so much... as long as they're unconscious. What is up with that guy? Back to the Thompson farm! Millie did her best naughty-schoolgirl impression, sneaking into her boyfriend's room when her folks weren't looking. Which, of course, meant Vash was out on his ass. Surely, a priest would show mercy? No such luck. Spikey was stuck bunking with short girl. (Think Wolfwood and Meryl planned it that way? I certainly wouldn't put it past them.) Meryl got a peek at herself through Vash's eyes (_sigh!_) and quickly latched onto the many reasons why a relationship between them would be impossible, by giving no reason whatsoever. Vash seemed to agree with her (non)assessment, and the two bunked down separately. It wasn't long, however, before Meryl slipped and fell into Vash's bed (whoops!), which was okay, because we all know that an innocent cuddle does not (in anyway) represent an admission (of anything), right? Riiiiiiiiight.

**A/N: **If I remember correctly, there are a few manga easter egg references in here, as well as one to entirely different anime series. Happy hunting! I hope you are all enjoying your summer vacations. I'm not, because I am old and don't get one. _Bleh! _This chapter is nice and lengthy, and I do hope that you enjoy it. Also, I do hope that you review and let me know whether or not you enjoyed it. Onward...!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Potential Energy**

* * *

It was routine for Vash the Stampede to wake up a few hours before first light. He didn't require much sleep. As long as he wasn't sporting any new bullet holes, or a particularly nasty hangover, a few hours would suffice. In general, he had a lot more to accomplish before breakfast than the average person. This morning was no different, and he found his eyes open, senses alert, in the still darkened hours of predawn. 

What was decidedly _not_ routine about this particular morning, was the bundle of sleeping, feminine warmth curled around and on top of him. She had barely shifted through the night. Their limbs were still threaded and tangled. The bulk of her weight was across his left arm, the prosthetic one, a fact for which he was grateful. Otherwise, he was sure it would have fallen asleep by now. She had rolled farther into him, so that she could now be more accurately described as sleeping on her stomach, than on her side. Actually, she was kind of sleeping on _his _stomach: one of her legs thrown across his hip so that it came to rest between his own, the rest of her sprawled over his abdomen and chest. Her hair was a tickling softness beneath his chin. He could feel the gentle roll of breath over the pair of lips that had come to rest on his collarbone.

Vash realized that he'd never woken up with a woman in his arms. That is, unless one counted the nights he'd spent in Rem's bed when he was very young, which, given his current circumstances, he did not. There were precious few places where Meryl's bare skin touched his own, but even this limited contact was quickly educating him on the difference between the two scenarios.

It was actually, really nice. And, he was kind of starting to freak out.

He briefly considered a strategy of simply falling back to sleep. But, considering that every nerve he owned appeared to have suddenly become hypersensitive, he doubted that would be possible. So, he could either just lay here... no, that wasn't going to happen. His anxiety was increasing exponentially, and the logistics of their physical position was making it all but impossible to keep his hands to himself. Never mind that it was she who was practically accosting him; she was going to wake up and smack the hell out of him any second now. Is that why he was so nervous? Was he afraid of her reaction? _Probably not,_ an interior voice taunted. Funny, that little voice sounded an awful lot like Wolfwood.

_Enough!_ Vash willfully silenced any further debate over the source of his discomfort, and set himself to action: escape. He started by testing his mobility, assessing how difficult it would be to disentangle himself without waking her. _Damn._ He was going to need her cooperation to get free.

"Meryl," he whispered as he cautiously attempted to roll her away from him. Luckily, she didn't wake. Unluckily, she responded with a gentle mewl of protest, her hand bunching in the fabric of his shirt. Her hips rolled against him slightly as she snuggled closer. _Oh shit._ Vash closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Had she been conscious, he would have called it a dirty trick. If she woke up now, she'd really pummel him.

_Get out now!_ He bent one of his legs to dislodge hers and used her shoulder to push her away from him, rolling himself in the opposite direction at the same time. He tumbled to the floor with a heavy thud, and quickly sat up, peering cautiously over the edge of the mattress.

She appeared to still be sleeping. He stood and leaned over her, trying to see her face. Her eyes were closed and she wore a small pout, her body curling in on itself at the loss of warmth. _The plan was a success! _he congratulated himself. _Good job! _Then he noticed the dull ache in his hip where he'd landed on the floor. _Owwie! _his inner-dialogue whined. _Girls are hard work._

He watched her sleep a moment longer before turning away. Why had she done that last night? Gotten into bed with him? What did it mean? Thinking about the implications was already giving him a heartburn. Much better to simply focus on the comforting normalcy of routine. Deciding that he could skip meditation, he got back on the floor. Three-hundred push-ups, starting now.

* * *

"_Is the time upon us, then?"_

"_They are reunited. Just as we had hoped."_

"_Yes. But, they are yet fractured. This one in particular is... distracted."_

"_They will need time, yes. However, the collective is reforming. Can you not feel it?"_

"_I can, but they are unaware. They stumble through darkness. You know that I do not trust the humans. They are a source of imbalance. How do they function without a hive?"_

"_They connect through their emotional empathy."_

"_Emotions? I do not understand this. We have discussed this before. Their methods of communication are unpredictable. They are dangerous."_

"_And yet, we require them. Also, our brother will not ignore their plight."_

"_Your brothers... are you certain we can rely on them?"_

"_Yes."_

"_How?"_

"_We have faith in them."_

"_Faith? This is something else I cannot understand. The survival of my race depends on them, as well. Why should I support them?"_

"_Because... you have no other choice."_

* * *

_Hup! _

_Hup!_

The sound reached Meryl, disrupting a dream so that its details shattered.

_Hup!_

Her hazy mind recognized it as a voice, a familiar voice. She rolled in its direction, sitting up and covering her mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Hup!"

She blinked a few times to clear the bleariness and was met by the sight of Vash, upside down with his feet in the air. He was balancing his full weight on one arm with the other tucked behind his back. The supporting limb trembled slightly as he bent it, lowering himself until his face nearly touched the floor before straightening it again, raising himself up to where he began. "Hup!"

"Holy shit, Vash!"

Her startled outburst broke his concentration and he fell, the back of his neck and shoulders slamming into the floor as his feet bent over his head. He looked at her, upside down from between his knees. Wincing through a smile, he greeted, "Morning, Meryl."

Meryl stared wide-eyed and dumb for a moment before the door burst open. Vash tried to turn his pinned head as Wolfwood stormed through the entryway, his stance indicating he was prepared for a fight. "What the fuck was that!?" His eyes quickly scanned the room, seeing Meryl sitting in bed (wasn't her bed on the other side of the room?), and Spikey bent in half and upside down on the floor. The priest's posture relaxed as he grumbled, "I kind of want to know... but I'm not even going to ask." Meryl opened her mouth to hastily explain, but Wolfwood was already leaving, calling over his shoulder, "And it's hot as hell in here! Open a window, or something." The door shut behind him with a jerk just shy of a slam.

"That was unbelievable, Vash. How do you do that?"

Vash rolled, righting himself so that he was sitting cross-legged. He rubbed the back of his neck where it had hit the unforgiving floor. "I'm pretty strong."

"So I gathered." Meryl took in his appearance as he grabbed his discarded shirt, using it as a make-shift towel to wipe off the sheen of sweat that covered him. Wolfwood had been correct in his assessment: it was hot in here. As recognition dawned on her, she slid to the floor and crawled toward him. "Vash! The grate! Where did it go?" She curiously placed a hand on his chest where the lattice of metal had been attached, too stunned to notice how he shied away from her touch.

"Knives put me in a bulb to heal me and all the metal got absorbed." Meryl moved around him on her knees as he spoke, noticing that the scars were softer, more flesh-toned, as opposed to the angry red welts they had been. She lifted his arm as she explored, and ducked under it to inspect his back. He was right. All the bolts and plates were gone.

"Meryl." She turned at his voice and found her face very close to his. She had one hand on his chest and was using the other to raise up his arm. If he lowered it, he'd be holding her. Meryl's cheeks flushed. It seemed she'd gotten carried away in her excitement. Vash looked at her nervously, and she could feel the corded tension in the muscles beneath her fingers. "I'm all sweaty."

She was a little embarrassed (okay, maybe more than a little) but she wasn't about to let him slide on that lame excuse. "Is that why you don't want me to touch you?"

He was unprepared for the question, and at this proximity he couldn't hide it from her. "No, I... doesn't it bother you...? They're pretty gruesome."

She smiled softly. "No, Vash. It doesn't bother me." He looked away and rose, stepping away from her as he moved to open the window. She frowned. "Would you be more comfortable if it did?" she asked.

He didn't turn to face her, gazing out on the lush greenery of the Thompson farm. "Maybe," he admitted quietly.

Without warning she embraced him from behind, her arms across his chest and her body pressed against his back. "Meryl!" he protested. "I'm all... sweaty!"

"Oh, shut up, you dumb jerk," she scolded, her grip tightening for a moment before she placed a kiss between his shoulder blades and stepped away. He turned, shocked and unsure of what he felt, or of what he should say. She was already gathering her toiletries and a towel, "Well anyway, I was sweaty, too. The next time you're going to exercise indoors, please be good enough to open the window _before _you begin." She smiled warmly as she handed him a towel. "We should get cleaned up, and then I'll see about helping with breakfast. I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

Vash's jaw was hanging open and he really didn't care. He was overcome by the desperate desire to kiss her, and he most likely would have if she hadn't stepped away from him at that moment. She slipped her feet into the slippers by her bed, and headed through the door towards the closest bathroom. "See you soon!" she called with hasty levity as she disappeared.

Vash watched her go without a word, his expression still wonderstruck as he sat heavily on the bed. Not for the first time, he was overcome by a stumbling cloud of contradictory emotions, and the distinct sensation that he was in a world of trouble.

* * *

Wolfwood caught up with Vash as he crossed through a flower garden on his way to the main house. The outlaw had abandoned the ridiculous get-up he'd been wearing at the reception in favor of a much more ordinary pair of jeans and plain button-up. There was just something about seeing Vash in a tailored suit that made it difficult for the priest to keep a straight face. 

As he walked, Vash appeared to be so absorbed in staring at the landscape, that he hardly registered anything else. It wasn't often that Wolfwood was able sneak up on his friend unawares, and he took full advantage of this opportunity now.

"Hey, needle noggin!" Wolfwood loudly chimed as he slipped within a pace of the gunman.

Vash's reaction was priceless as ever: he jumped, he scrambled, he screamed, and eventually, he scowled. "Good morning, Wolfwood," he greeted when he'd composed himself, noting (and not for the first time) that the more broadly the priest smiled at him, the more evil the expression appeared.

"And what a good morning it is!" the priest exclaimed, that smile still fixed, wide, and full of quasi-wicked intent. "You're not still sore at me for last night, are you?"

"Yes," Vash glared. "As a matter of fact, I am."

Wolfwood ignored the outlaw's querulous tone, his ability to hear without really listening honed like an ancient art. "Come on now! Don't be like that. How'd it go? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Vash answered decidedly, his clipped reply and hunching shoulders indicating a finality on the subject that Wolfwood was all too happy to ignore.

"Really? That's funny... I could have sworn that was _your _bed she was in." Wolfwood lit a cigarette, grin still fixed around it.

"Wolfwood..." Vash warned.

"So'd she sleep in your bed or not?"

Vash quickened his pace as he became increasingly flustered. _And this man calls himself a priest? _"Yes! But nothing happened, okay? Leave it alone, would ya?"

"Ah, Spikey..." Wolfwood shook his head sadly, stopping Vash with a hand he placed on his shoulder. "You disappoint me. We practically handed you that opportunity on a silver platter. How'd you foul it up this time? Don't you listen to me?"

"Oh I listen," Vash said defensively. "You just don't make very much sense most of the time. And I didn't 'foul up' anything! ...How'd it go with Millie?" he defiantly demanded.

"Think carefully, Spikey..." Wolfwood cautioned, all the while maintaining that falsely blithe smile. "I know you're trying to turn the table here, but you don't _really_ want a detailed answer to that question, now do you?"

Vash flushed, gaping a moment before he scowled and turned on his heel. He was tempted to try his hand at strangling the priest, but decided that wrestling matches before breakfast were out of the question. He retreated in the direction of the main house, aware of Wolfwood as he followed, certain that that priest was smiling smugly around that omnipresent cigarette.

As he stepped onto a particular stretch of lawn, Vash suddenly felt a vaguely familiar hum of energy. His brow creased as he bent to one knee, his hand pressing into the blades of grass. "What is it?" Wolfwood asked, his tone shifting to concern. But Vash had all but blocked him out, the priest's voice a distant echo as he focused his awareness into the earth.

_There._ He could feel them. The plants of September, their energy running along the mineral vein on which he stood. And beyond them, he could sense the rest of his sisters, connected individuals within a single consciousness. _The mineral veins!_ A map opened in his mind. He could see where the ships had crashed, all of them landing on this network of veins in the soil. It was spread out like a fan, a giant delta where a great network of rivers had once met an ocean. The soil here was richer, full of deposits that his sisters could use as a ready supply of raw materials. There had been subtle shifts in soil chemistry, little changes since the Fall that Vash saw as time fell open to him. _They're so patient. They've been connected along these veins all along. It's what supports the collective, their collective mind. They've been preparing... waiting? _Vash's train of thought was broken as his sisters greeted his presence. It was a warm nudge inside his mind. He felt the pride of the September plants as they showed him the changes made, the vastness and diversity of life on this little farm. He could feel each human who inhabited it, the plants keeping track of them with affection and gratitude. The Thompsons had been good to this land. It wouldn't have been possible for the plants without their assistance and dedication.

Vash was vaguely aware of being pulled deeper into the plant mind. His knowledge of the earth, of the changes on a molecular level, became more and more detailed as his sense of his own body lessened. And then, he began to feel something else. Something alien. _What? Another hive mind?_ It was as if someone else were listening in on the line. It noticed him and he felt another pull at his consciousness, a harsh exploration. A thrill of alarm went through him as he felt himself being overpowered. His awareness of his corporeal self began to slip.

"Vash! Dammit! Answer me!"

He grabbed onto the voice, used it as leverage to pull himself out. He found himself looking up into a very worried pair of lavender eyes.

"Hey, short girl."

"Vash, are you okay?" she asked.

She was kneeling in the grass beside him. He had no idea how long she'd been there. Was he okay? He was a little shaken, but... "Yeah. Thank you. I'm fine now."

"What the hell was that?" Wolfwood demanded. He was standing over the gunman, Millie looking down with concern by his side.

"Something I'm going to have to talk to Knives about."

Wolfwood practically growled. "Well, aren't we cryptic today? I expect a better answer than that!"

"Wolfwood!" Meryl glared up at him and they stared at each other a moment before the priest shrugged and turned away. Meryl looked back at Vash. "You sure you're alright?"

He smiled gently. "Yeah. Sorry about that."

Her brow creased slightly. "I hate it when you apologize."

"Sorry," he replied before he could think better of it, and her brow creased more deeply. He laughed nervously before she could respond, hastily rising to his feet.

"So, we're getting on the sandsteamer tonight?" Millie interjected, and Vash smiled gratefully at the change in topic.

"Yep!" he beamed. "Already got the tickets and everything!"

Rebuked, but still irritated, and agitated further by the gunman's phony, flaky grin, Wolfwood asked, "And why, exactly are we getting on a sandsteamer? I'm just a little curious, considering the fact that we're supposed to be laying low?"

"It's just an orca-class," Vash replied. "It'll get us to March in a week and from there the route to New Oregon won't take us through anywhere with a large population. We'll board separately and I'll stay in my cabin the whole time. No one will bother us in first class. I promise."

"He promises," Wolfwood grumbled sarcastically. "_That's _never a good sign."

"I hate sandsteamers," Meryl groused.

"Why's that, Sempai?" Millie looked honestly confused.

"Because, Millie," Meryl started peevishly, "somehow we always get taken hostage!"

"Oh, yeah!" Millie laughed, and Meryl rolled her eyes. "But we always manage to do just fine. Remember last time you fired my stun-gun with your feet? That was really something!"

"No shit?" Wolfwood asked as Vash simultaneously offered a, 'wow, really?'

Meryl blushed deeply. "It was really just luck..."

"Now, don't be modest, Sempai," Millie interrupted as she launched into the full story of how Meryl had managed to land a kick between their captor's legs, and then, with arms bound, caught the stun-gun in midair, using her feet to launch the criminal against the opposite wall.

Wolfwood draped an arm around Meryl's shoulders as she fidgeted nervously. He turned to Vash, laughing in a way that Meryl found exaggerated and slightly obnoxious, "Hear that, Spikey? No worries. We've got our own personal bodyguard!"

Meryl tossed his arm off and stormed towards the house. Vash caught up to her and quietly asked, "Did you really do that?"

"Yeah," she answered sharply as she crossed her arms. "Why? Don't believe I could?"

"No," he said, his smile warm and appreciative, "I'm _sure_ you could."

If it was at all possible, Meryl's blush deepened. She quickened her pace, smiling a little as she left him behind and entered the main house.

* * *

"Lizzie!" Lina Fray called out to her friend as she passed by the door to her lab. She had been trying, unsuccessfully, to gain an audience with the senior scientist for several days. Lina suspected that she was purposefully avoiding her, and this sentiment was solidified as Elisabeth hurried past the doorway, acting as if she hadn't heard her. 

"Lizzie, wait!" Lina shot through the door and caught the other woman by the arm. Luckily, the dresses Elisabeth preferred prevented her from moving at any speed greater than a dignified stroll.

"Oh, Lina!" Elisabeth smiled, her expression imitating one of pleasant surprise, even as her eyes momentarily darted about for an escape. "I didn't see you there."

"Sure." Lina made no effort to hide her dubiety. She wasn't interested in playing dumb. "Why have you been avoiding me? And the Professor, too? He won't see me."

"Don't be silly, Lina. I'm doing no such thing." Elisabeth fixed her with that calm smile, inscrutable eyes that ignited a flare of anger through Lina. "You know how busy everyone has been with the new research."

"New research," Lina spat it out like a curse. "And what exactly is this 'new research'? I don't like being kept in the dark. Especially when no one is willing to tell me why. And now I can't even access my own research!"

"What are you going on about?" Elisabeth asked with prim, condescending disinterest. Lizzie's attitude toward her had changed over the past month and Lina was beyond aggravation; she was positively wrathful.

"The Sandworm Project: I spearheaded that research, and now the dataframe won't acknowledge my access codes when I try to bring up the files!"

Elisabeth's lips momentarily formed a thin line before she recomposed herself. "That's not an area of study to which you are currently assigned."

"That's not the point!" Lina exploded.

"The point, Angelina," Elisabeth countered, her tone turning authoritative and castigating, "is that you are my subordinate, and you would do well to remember your position. Any research you conduct becomes the property of the Union, and if you are denied access, you have no grounds on which to protest!" Elisabeth's brow smoothed as she straightened the sleeve of her dress. She looked on Lina with haughty supremacy, and added, "When I assign you a task, I expect that you will give it your full attention without question. Your behavior today has been inappropriate and unprofessional. Given your youth, I am willing to overlook it, but this is the first and last time I will extend such a generosity."

Lina clenched her jaw so tightly that it actually made her ears ache. With difficulty, she managed to respond, "Yes, Miss Elisabeth."

Elisabeth gave her a clipped nod, and turned to leave. Lina placed a hand gently on her arm, causing the woman to pause and glare at the appendage as if the gesture had been meant as a physical affront. "I beg your pardon, ma'am," Lina said as she withdrew, "but I wondered if you might do me a small favor: I have a gift for the Professor. Chance made it for him, but I haven't had the opportunity to deliver it myself."

Elisabeth softened, and for a moment, even seemed regretful. "Of course, Lina. I'm meeting with him now. I'd be happy to bring it."

Lina returned to her lab, which also served as an office, emerging again with a paper flower, crudely pinched into a small, lopsided clay pot. Elisabeth smiled softly as she accepted the present. "It's adorable."

"She's very proud of it," Lina added with a gentle sadness that further softened Elisabeth's reproachful demeanor.

"I'm sure he'll love it," she smiled. "And, I'll let him know that you'd like to see him. He's been very busy, but... I'll see what I can do, Lina."

Lina gave her a grateful half-smile and returned to her lab as Elisabeth set off down the hall. Once inside, Lina closed the door behind her and locked it so that an access code would be required to reopen it. She stood for a moment, breathing hard as tears welled behind her tightly closed eyes. The raging emotions swelled until she broke off in an explosion of occluded, impotent frustration, her fist slamming into a wall.

She hadn't wanted to resort to this. It was underhanded and manipulative. This wasn't the way she treated her friends and family. But Elisabeth and the Professor had left her with no other options. Still, this hadn't been how she'd wanted to gather her information.

She sat down at her desk, putting on a set of headphones as she adjusted the receiver until the signal became clear. A web of apprehension tightened her stomach as she tried to prepare herself for what the hidden listening device in Chance's 'gift' would reveal.

* * *

Vash had boarded the steamer before the rest of his friends, several hours before it set sail. Millie and Wolfwood were slotted to check in next, traveling together, and like him, under pseudonyms. Lastly, only an hour before the _Endurance_ embarked for March, Meryl was supposed to have joined the crowd of passengers. 

Vash had been very good. He'd stayed in his cabin the whole time, just like he promised. He hoped that the rest of his friends had managed to get onboard without any trouble.

The sandsteamer had been moving for a few hours now, and Vash was starting to get restless. No, he had _started_ to get restless about fifteen minutes after he'd entered his room. He'd done everything he could think of to keep himself entertained and distracted. Including, but not limited to, setting up a race track for a pair of sand-beetles that happened to be living in his quarters. He was now far beyond antsy, pacing the floor and desperately trying to come up with a rational justification for stepping outside.

Well, the ship was only an orca-class, but it still had over a hundred passengers. He could easily remain unnoticed in a crowd of that size. If he put the suit back on, he'd blend right in with the rest of the business men and women who used this steamer as a shuttle for work between March and September. The more he thought about it, the less necessary it seemed to stay cooped up in his cabin. Besides, people would find it odd if a passenger never left his room, right?

Vash was dressed, in the casino, and down two-hundred double-dollars within the hour. He had thought, with his knowledge of trajectories, weight of projectiles, and angles of impact, that roulette would be a piece of cake. What he forgot to take into account was his unerringly terrible luck. He whined an inarticulate complaint as the uncooperative little ball landed on black. "I thought for sure it was gonna be red," he grumbled.

Just as he'd decided to cut his losses and return to his cabin, he heard a voice by his shoulder grind out a low warning: "Tongari... what are you doing?"

Vash turned to the priest, his hand reaching reflexively for the itchy spot on the nape of his neck, though Wolfwood had long-grown immune to the gesture's charm. "Uh... losing?"

Wolfwood watched as another pile of the gunman's chips were drawn away by the dealer. "I can see that. Why are you out of your room?"

Vash's posture turned just shy of defensive, and the priest was once again reminded of just how closely Vash could resemble a petulant child. "I got bored," he complained.

Millie appeared before Wolfwood could further challenge Vash. She joined them from the direction of the card tables, a blithe grin fixed over her features. "Hey, Mr..." she hesitated, leaning close and whispering, "What's your name again?"

"This, dear, is Mr. Smith," Wolfwood supplied, still eying Vash with annoyance.

"Hey, Mr. Smith! Isn't this fun? I just won six times in a row at... um, what was it?"

"Blackjack, honey," Wolfwood answered, his amused adoration taking some of the bite out of the superior tone he'd been maintaining for Vash's benefit.

"Yeah, that's it! You should try it! It's really fun and easy and... hey? Aren't you supposed to be in your room?"

"You guys aren't in your room," Vash protested.

Wolfwood pulled Vash away from the crowd at the table and hissed, "_We _don't have bounties on our heads."

Vash ignored him and grumbled something about fairness, looking pleadingly toward Millie for support. Wolfwood wanted to hit him. "Look here, needle noggin...!"

"I understand," Millie interjected before her boyfriend made a scene. "It must be awful lonely and boring all by yourself. Sempai must have felt the same way."

"You mean she left her cabin, too!?" Wolfwood demanded.

"Uh huh," Millie obliviously affirmed. "She said she was going to 'lay low' in the lounge."

Wolfwood sighed heavily, turning his gaze to the ceiling. "Lord? Why?" He turned back to where Vash stood, intending to drag the man back to his cabin and lock him inside if necessary, but the gunman was already gone. "I hate when he does that," he grumbled.

"Let him go," Millie said with a wave of her hand. "Everything will work out." Wolfwood had every intention of protesting the illogical optimism of such a statement, especially considering that they were talking about Vash, but Millie slipped her arm around his elbow and began to draw him back towards the card tables. "Come on, let's play some more Black Jake!"

* * *

"A pretty girl all alone? Now that's a crime." 

Meryl had been preoccupied with the task of tearing a napkin into several hundred smaller pieces. It took a moment for her to realize that the voice was speaking to her. When she turned her head she was greeted by an unfamiliar face. He was generically handsome, probably in his twenties judging from the angular masculinity that had only just begun to supplant more rounded, boyish features. His expression was full of the self-assured importance that young men often have, freshly loosed into the world, before they've had a chance to learn how small they really are.

"My name's Alaster. You go to school in September? Graduated two years ago myself. I work for a technical union in March now. Just got a promotion, actually. Why are you headed to March? Interviewing for an internship?"

Meryl realized how young she must look. This guy took her for a coed, one of those wealthy enough to afford higher education at September University. In her neat business attire, the prim white blouse and dark pencil skirt, it wasn't too far off to imagine she was headed to an interview. She looked past Alaster's shoulder and noted a group of young men attempting to be inconspicuous. Wing-men. They cast the occasional glance in her direction, waiting to see if their buddy was about to strike-out.

Her immediate impulse was to tell him to try his luck elsewhere. Meryl wasn't interested. But a funny thought struck her: she wasn't 'Meryl'. At least, not tonight. And she had left her cabin because she hadn't wanted to be alone. _This could prove to be a fun game._

"You got me!" she smiled. "One more semester at SU. I'm going to try and intern at the newspaper in March."

Alaster grinned at her encouraging reaction. "A reporter, huh? I can see that," he stated, his approval of her choice in profession suggesting he imagined she needed reassurance. "So what's your name?"

"Bridget. Nice to meet you, Alaster."

"Likewise, Bridget." He pulled his stool closer to hers and received a few congratulatory gestures from his friends that she pretended not to notice. He motioned for the bartender's attention. "So what you drinking, Bridge? Cosmo? Seabreeze?"

The stone-faced bartender set a pint of microbrewed ale in front of Alaster, and to both patrons' surprise, a rocks glass on 'Bridget's' coaster. "Double gin. Splash of tonic. On the rocks with two limes. Complements of the gentleman in the booth." The bartender finished with a nod toward the back of the lounge. Alaster frowned at the blond seated on the velvet bench that curled around a table. The blond smiled obliviously and waved.

'Bridget' barely contained a smirk as she picked up her drink and rose from her stool. She turned to Alaster, as he watched her with confused eyes, undoubtedly wondering at what moment the tide had turned against him. "Sorry," she said as she tipped her glass in a consolatory salute, "but this is a little more my speed."

Alaster continued to glower at Vash as she made her way to the back of the room. When she took a seat next to him he remarked, "That guy sure is a spoilsport."

"Thanks for the drink. However did you know?"

She had meant for the question to be sarcastic. Rhetorical, since they'd been drinking together often enough for him to know exactly what she preferred. But he surprised her by answering, "Lucky guess. I have a knack for that sort of thing... Bridget, was it?"

_Hmm. So he wants to play?_ "That's right," she said, not missing a beat as she adopted the sort of carefree expression she imagined a real coed would wear in this sort of situation. "And you are...?"

"Michael," he grinned, extending his hand. She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it, but she managed not to break character as she shook his hand.

"And what brings you to March, Michael?"

"I'm a banker."

"Really?" Bridget said, impressed. "That sounds important. Your parents must be very proud."

"Of course. My father's a banker, too. But," Michael grinned sheepishly, "they won't really be happy until I settle down and give them some grandkids."

"Oh?" Bridget asked as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "And what's stopping you?"

"I suppose, I just haven't met the right girl."

"Picky?"

"Oh, of course!" he said seriously. "I'm a bright, attractive man, with a bright, attractive future. I can't entrust that to just anyone."

She laughed as he took a swig from his glass. "So then, you have any ideas as to what attributes you would require in the future Mrs. 'Bright-and-Attractive'?"

"Well," he started, considering his glass as he swirled its contents, "she'd have to be smart. And beautiful, of course."

"Of course." Bridget stated as a matter-of-fact, nodding for him to continue.

"She'd have to be good with kids, an excellent cook, brave, determined... maybe a nice coed, with aspirations of journalism." He smiled at her and there was a bit of laughter in the expression.

He looked the part. With his deceptively young and disarming features, the expensive suit, Meryl could almost pretend he was a banker. Her mind wandered, imagining a world where she really was 'Bridget', and he really was 'Michael'. What it would be like if they could have a nice, normal existence. Together.

"Sounds like a great life," she said softly, suddenly very interested in the hem of her sleeve. "What more could a girl ask for? Roof over her head. Husband with a profitable and uneventful career. Two point three kids and a dog. The definition of womanly content, right?"

"Right."

The regret in his voice made her turn, aware that he had mistaken the meaning of her words, thinking that she was voicing what she wanted. What surprised her was his expression of grief, the understanding that he truly wished he had it to offer her. He wanted to be Michael, if that's what she wanted. _Is that what I want? What I need? _

"No." He turned sharply at the resolve in her tone, but his confusion was evident. Didn't he see? She didn't want to be a stupid college intern! She didn't want to get married to a banker! _Our lives... they're difficult. They're complicated. But how could I want anything other than... _She slid down the bench until she was against him. She tremulously reached for his face, but withdrew her outstretched fingertips before they met his cheek. Sighing, and at a loss for the right words, she simply entreated, "Let's just be us, Vash."

He looked distressed, conflicted. "But..."

"I don't want to play anymore." She laid her forehead on his shoulder, uncertain if it was out of exhaustion or simply the desire to touch him.

"Are you sure?" The way he asked made her feel as if he were offering an escape. She looked up at him. He was so serious, grave even. It filled her with a sudden weariness, as if she'd been fighting a war and wanted nothing better than to surrender. Only, looking at Vash, she couldn't tell who'd been conquered.

Her voice stuck in her throat and she couldn't answer. She could only sigh, her head rolling weightlessly into the hand he suddenly held against her cheek. "Meryl, look at me." She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until he spoke her name, and when she saw the determination in his, she became suddenly, acutely aware that he wasn't asking permission, he was going to...

Kiss her.

Truthfully, Meryl had never really enjoyed kissing. She could never get her mind around what the big deal was. In her limited experience, she found that it was abrupt, sloppy, and at best, boring. In fact, she'd often found it difficult to keep her attention focused in the midst of a kiss, her mind preferring to wander.

Vash's lips touched hers, the barest parting, the lightest touch imaginable, and she understood. Her attention focused so narrowly on his mouth, that if she'd been standing, she was certain she'd have lost the strength in her legs. She was already dizzy, forced to close her eyes as her senses threatened to overwhelm her. He kissed her, and yet, he didn't. He was holding back, moving so slowly, savoring so fully, that she found she was forced to pay full attention to even the slightest detail of his touch. She became hyper-aware of texture, taste, the thumb that caressed her temple as the rest of his fingers curled behind her ear. He pulled just far enough away that she could still sense his mouth hovering less than a millimeter above hers.

It was amazing. It was torture.

Meryl felt she was of two minds. One was so utterly enthralled by the delicacy, that it endeavored to maintain the touch that was not touching, afraid that the minutiae of sensations would be lost in any increase of pace or pressure. The other cried out for release from the maddening build of potential energy, desiring nothing more than to pull him toward her, to discover if a mouth could really bruise.

And this was just a kiss.

He pulled away from her, just far enough so that when she opened her eyes she could see his whole face. Judging by his ragged breathing, his slightly glazed eyes, and the flush that crept over his skin, he was experiencing the same deluge. His gaze flickered over her mouth as if it surprised him somehow, and a moment later his eyes flashed up to meet hers.

She couldn't take this anymore, and apparently, he agreed. His head tilted as he leaned into her again, his touch more confident, yet less controlled. His mouth moved against hers and she responded instinctively, deepening the kiss as she gripped the lapels of his jacket with both hands. She struggled to move slowly, to resist the urge to all but devour him, to see if she could disappear in that kiss.

"Wait! Stop!" she pleaded, gripped by a sudden and unnameable fear.

He managed to pull himself away, holding both of her wrists where he'd removed her grip on his collar. "Did I hurt you?" His brow was creased. Concern, guilt, confusion all managed to play out in his eyes. And in the background, she could still discern desire. She wondered if he realized he was still leaning toward her. She shook her head. He hadn't hurt her. Why had she stopped him? Why...? She looked up into those aqua eyes, the ones that were just slightly more blue than green, the ones that had transfixed her more times than she could count, the ones that always seemed to be pleading or in pain, and she realized that the odd power she'd always imagined they had was nothing extraordinary. It wasn't supernatural, it wasn't uncanny. His eyes effected her so, because they belonged to the man she was in love with, had been in love with, for longer than she knew.

Unable to speak past the lump in her throat, she fell against him, finding his mouth and attempting to kiss him senseless. It was as if he were melting into her. She felt every trace of tension, doubt, in him dissolve in the wake of her slow, ardent kiss. Only then did she pull away, breathing into his ear, "Where's your room?"


	14. Fighting Dance

**Title:** _After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/nope, nothing yet  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content-- (this chapter is sexually suggestive, and there is an allusion of a threat of something non-consensual)  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:**_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last time: Vash woke up in the embrace of an intimate cuddle, and promptly began to freak out. Through ingenuity and goofiness, he was able to free himself, learning that girls are, indeed, hard work. His morning workout was then interrupted when the source of his unease awoke, sending him crashing to the floor. The resulting ruckus summoned a battle-ready priest, who, we're sure, came up with his own theories about what Vash and Meryl had been up to. After some needling by Wolfwood, Vash was distracted by the chorus of his kind: the call of his sisters through a mineral vein. Turns out that the Thompson Farm is a Geo-Plant. And there is definitely some weird stuff going on: Who, or what, was talking in that mysterious dialogue segment? What are the plants up to? What's with that other hive mind? Vash came back to his senses before we could learn much, and the gang was off to ride a steamer to March. Neither Wolfwood nor Meryl thought this was a particularly good plan of action, but what's done is done. After some thorough and creative rationalization, a stir-crazy Vash left his cabin and headed for the casino. Turns out he sucks at roulette. Millie, on the other hand, is an excellent "Black Jake" player. Wolfwood was none too amused that Vash had left his room, and had intended to drag the jerk back to said room, but Vash magically disappeared after learning that Meryl was also out and about. He caught up with her in the ship's lounge, where she was getting hit on by a frat boy. Vash and Meryl then played 'would of/could of' in the form of a little role-playing. I guess that's what Meryl needed to realize that even if life with Vash is crazy, it's still life with Vash that she's after. And then! (drum roll) The Kiss!! And it only took me 13 chapters. When we left our heroes, things were getting a little spicy. Who knew Meryl could be so forward? (Me.)

**A/N: **A thousand pardons. bows I have gone far too long without an update. I got a little overwhelmed at work, and Writer's Block followed. Luckily, I think that particular ailment is behind me. On with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 14: Fighting Dance**

* * *

She told him to stop, and he did, immediately. Or, so it seemed. Vash had always possessed the ability to process external and internal input at an inhuman speed. He was especially good with warnings, and particularly quick when his senses were already heightened, as they were now. From Meryl's perspective there was no hesitation between the plea she gasped against his mouth, and the moment he withdrew. For Vash however, that sliver of time consisting of mere milliseconds dragged out into an epic battle. Flesh warred with mind as he reluctantly complied, aware that he might never be permitted to touch her again. He held her wrists, more to steady himself than to push her away. As he withdrew from the purity of sensory input, his logical mind began to race. 

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, terrified that he had done something, something awful before he'd gotten control of himself. What the hell was he doing? She didn't want this. He'd practically assaulted her! _She'll never forgive me. I won't even be able to salvage a friendship after this. I'll be lucky if she waits for the steamer to get to March before she makes a break for it. Why? Why am I such a stupid, impulsive... _She was shaking her head. Why was she shaking her head? No? No, what? _Why isn't she saying any...?_

Without warning she leaned- no, fell- against him. Her mouth was on his and that was the end of coherent thought. He tensed for a moment, his eyes going wide as she reacted exactly opposite to what he'd been expecting. Up until that point, he'd been in control. He'd made the move. Now, he was the one being kissed: thoroughly, utterly, properly kissed.

By the time she pulled back, Vash felt so liquid, he couldn't pull a thought from the puddle that moments earlier had been his brain.

Her mouth trailed over his cheek, lips brushing his earlobe as a throaty, desperate purr asked, "Where's your room?"

He'd never settled a tab faster. Even when he was being shot at, he usually still bothered to count the bills. Where the hell was his room again? Oh, yeah. Two floors up. Hallway. Elevator. It was all a blur.

He was pretty sure they had managed a somewhat dignified exit from the lounge. But the ride in the lift had been nearly unbearable. He allowed himself to thread his fingers through Meryl's, but other than that, he was determined to behave himself. Meryl stood pressed along his side, as they both stared at the lighted numbers above the door, uncomfortably aware of the operator who stood in silence with them, as the elevator made its painfully slow assent.

They rolled to a stop on the _second_ floor. Vash's room was on the _third_. "Second floor," announced the operator. No one got in or out.

Vash and Meryl shot simultaneous, impatient glares at the man, who merely chuckled in response. Vash blushed furiously, and quickly turned back to face the front. _And here I thought we were being smooth. _ He didn't dare glance at Meryl, though he could feel the nervous, waiting energy in the parts of her that were leaning against him. He could hear her grumbling under her breath, "C'mon, c'mon..." Vash had to fidget. He began to bounce on the balls of his feet. Her impatience was making his stomach flip and flop in a not entirely unpleasant way.

The doors opened with a ding, and Vash pulled Meryl into the hallway before the operator could even finish announcing, "Third floor." She stole one last look at the operator before the doors slid shut again, fulling intending to pin him with a wrathful glare, but was mortified when he actually smiled and winked at her. "Have fun, kids," he said, as the doors closed on her beet-red face.

The trip down the hallway was a stumble of unbroken contact. Before he knew it, Vash had her with her back against the door to his cabin. _Finally. _ Apparently her patience was spent as well, because she kissed him in the empty hallway before he could get the door open. Even with her heels, the height difference was enough that an empty space opened between them as he leaned down for her neck, making a trail from just behind her ear to that more-than-appealing curve of a shoulder. She made a whimpering sound that was half pleasure, half protest. "Have you always been this tall?"

He laughed, a wicked little grin as he responded, "Have you always been this short?"

A short joke. That was low, but she supposed she'd left herself wide open for it. Before she could properly respond, he gave her hips an encouraging tug. She found herself being lifted off her feet, and height was no longer an issue as her weight was supported by the door and the legs she had wrapped around his waist.

Vash found that her legs were surprisingly, thrillingly strong. The pencil skirt was less than accommodating, forced to bunch up high on her thighs until there was very little separating them, and... _Is this really happening? _If he had paused to think further on it, he would have become nervous, probably shy. But the wall of sensual information was preventing anything rational. The gooseflesh he could trace along the back of her thigh. The chest that heaved against his own. The little hands fisting the hair at his scalp...

Her teeth captured his lower lip, biting gently as her tongue ran over its edge. He briefly wondered if the groan in his head had been audible, but judging by the increase in pressure as her hips rolled against him, he was guessing it had. _Keys! Keys keys keys! _He adjusted his right arm so that it was under her, supporting her weight so that he could fish his pocket with the left for the little piece of metal that would get him through that door.

_Aha! Got 'em! _ He fumbled to fit key to lock with eyes closed, diverting just enough attention to his left hand so that he could unlock the door while maintaining focus on what had the rest of him so preoccupied. The layout of his room was already in his mind. He knew exactly where he was headed, just as soon as he managed to get this stupid... _Gah! _The clatter of metal on the floor. _Of course I'd drop the goddamn keys!_

"Freeze!"

He heard the unmistakable click of a hammer being cocked, and swore under his breath. Turning his head slowly, he was met by the barrel of a revolver and the smug, leering smirk of its owner.

"Fuck!" Both Vash and the assailant were startled by Meryl's forceful profanity. Vash looked at Meryl to find her glaring at the man who was now pointing the gun at her, not a trace of fear in her fierce expression. "You've got to be kidding me!"

* * *

Elisabeth had handed Chance's gift to the Professor and he hadn't looked at it twice. "Cute," he'd remarked, smiling in an appropriate but insincere way before setting it aside, banished to the corner of his desk. He seemed much more interested in research. Practically percolating as he described the promising results from sample C. 

"It seems this group is surviving outside the incubators. I was beginning to worry that it would be impossible to grow a life form so quickly and maintain the functioning of the major systems. But the subjects in C are thriving, and even showing signs of reaction to the transmitted waves. I think we may even be able to unplug them soon." His eyes were shining in triumph, and Elisabeth felt ill at ease. She realized that part of her had been hoping the project would fail. _I never wanted to play God._

"That's very encouraging," she said, hoping her smile was convincing. There was a brief lull of silence. She wondered if the Professor felt as uncomfortable as she did, but he was furiously looking over a read-out of some sort. Apparently, only marginally aware of her presence.

"Of course," he said, his expression darkening with a speed that further unsettled her, "I would be more encouraged if our military boys had made more progress."

"No promising leads, then?" she ventured.

"Nothing," he said, as if he'd tasted something foul. "They're completely inept. I practically handed them an in with that insurance agent, and they've managed to lose track of her, as well. This should have been easy."

Elisabeth resisted the urge to fidget, "Lina," she began carefully, "would like to see you."

"Hn. I'm far too busy," he muttered with disinterest. "She'll have to wait."

"Yes, but... she's growing suspicious. She's..."

Gray eyes flashed on her with sudden focus. "Suspicious?" he demanded. "What does she know?"

"Nothing," Elisabeth stammered, as she took an unwilling step away from him. "She just wants to know why we're avoiding her. Why she can no longer access the files on the sandworm research..."

"See that her curiosity doesn't get the best of her," the Professor warned darkly. "Angelina has proven more useful than I anticipated. We lucked out with her potential. But, never forget why we brought her here in the first place."

"Maybe," Elisabeth swallowed her alarm, willing her voice to calm reason, "maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe it wasn't Vash the Stampede who stayed with her..."

"It was. And she lied to us," he said with meaningful certainty. "Don't let your sentimentality overwhelm your logic. You can't forget what is at stake. What we do is for the greater good of all of humanity. Individuals mean nothing against that purpose."

Elisabeth lowered her gaze. Abashed, she conceded, "Of course, Professor."

Down the hall, Lina cut the signal and tossed off the headphones as if she'd been bitten. Her head was swimming. She was dizzy. How? How could she have been so foolish? She'd been played from the beginning. She was nothing but a tool, a way to get to Ericks. No, not Ericks- Vash the Stampede. She couldn't stay. She couldn't stay here a second longer. She had to take her daughter and get the hell away from these people. But, how? Where was she supposed to go? She had no family, no friends, no... No. That wasn't entirely true. She _did _have family. And, she hoped, a way to contact him.

* * *

The bandit had expected a very specific reaction from the woman when he put the revolver to her head. Maybe even a nicely satisfying girly scream. Meryl's contrary defiance to being held at gunpoint caused their assailant a moment's pause. Recovering, he laughed, letting his eyes trail a lascivious path over the expanse of flesh exposed by her bunched skirt. Feisty girl. 

Meryl didn't allow the fierce indignation of her gaze to falter, hiding her unease, even as her grip on Vash tightened. "Joking?" the bandit said. "'Fraid not. But don't worry, baby. My associates and I won't let you go... unsatisfied." He finished by reaching out his free hand, as if to lay it on her thigh.

"If you'd like to keep that hand," came a growl, dark and nearly unrecognizable, "don't touch her."

The man quickly pulled back and turned the gun on Vash. The yellowed whites of his eyes widened slightly , but he tried to hide his sudden alarm. He fixed his mouth into a tight line and then attempted a condescending grin. But Meryl could see that Vash's voice had shaken him. Hell, it had shaken her.

"Easy, blondie. Wouldn't want someone to get shot by accident, right?" the bandit said with mocking authority. Apparently, the fact that he was the only one holding a gun was bolstering his confidence. "What we have here is a basic hostage situation, which, if you don't know, means that if you both behave, you'll get her back when this is all over. No worse for wear." He winked, and grinned at Vash in a way that was meant to impart some sort of male understanding before he added, "I do appreciate you warming her up though."

Meryl had never actually seen Vash seethe. She'd seen him brood. She'd seen him rage. But this? This quiet, slow burn? The subtle twitch of muscles in an otherwise grim and impassive expression? This was frightening, even to her.

She realized then what a complete dullard their assailant was, as he failed to assimilate the danger and took Vash's expression to mean begrudging acceptance. "Good then," he smiled smoothly, turning the gun back on Meryl. "Now get on down from there..."

The moment the bandit allowed his attention to be diverted to Meryl, the patient energy that had been building within Vash exploded in a blur of nearly undetectable motion. She barely felt Vash's hand as he retrieved the derringer she'd tucked into a thigh holster. She blinked, and Vash's left arm was fully extended, her gun pressed into the surprised, sweat-beaded brow of their assailant.

Left slightly breathless, both by Vash's speed and from having a gun drawn from between her legs, Meryl's mind seemed only capable of dumbly asking, "_How did he know I was armed?" _ Her senses quickly returned to her, and as she became newly aware of her physical position, her logical mind answered, "_Duh. You have your thighs wrapped around his hips, and he was very close to discovering where you keep the extra rounds."_

The realization might have caused her embarrassment, but there were currently more important things to worry about than the delicacy of her sensibilities. Vash pulled her closer with his right arm, while the left held her weapon of choice with steeled certainty between the bandit's eyes. The man's gaze darted between them for an uncertain moment. He was still pointing his revolver at Meryl, his eyes panicked, while Vash maintained that unreadable, dangerous glare. "Drop it or I swear, I'll..." the attacker gasped, still fumbling for an advantage, "I swear to God, I'll blow her face off!"

The threat, the desperation of the man who'd delivered it, should have scared her. But Meryl was transfixed with morbid fascination, watching Vash's features as they contorted into someone unknown to her. She'd glimpsed this side of him before, long ago during that incident with Monev the Gale. But being this close. Seeing him transformed by fury, inches away from her... No, the bandit didn't frighten her, but, she realized with guilt, she suddenly wanted to get the hell away from Vash.

"No. You won't," said the voice that was Vash's, and yet didn't belong to him. "You hurt her, and I assure you that I can do much better than just shooting you in the head." The bandit hesitated, undoubtedly wondering what kind of vicious fate Vash was capable of subjecting him to. Meryl wondered for a moment if the shaking of his arm alone would cause the gun to go off. "Now," Vash continued, "get that gun out of her face and point it over here where it belongs."

The man's arm began to move as he dumbly complied, the gun starting a slow turn away from her and toward Vash. "Don't!" she yelped, her voice freeing itself from her throat.

Vash didn't look at her, he kept his eyes on the bandit as he hesitated again, but her knee-jerk attempt to protect him seemed to soften his expression. "Shh," he hushed: gentle, cajoling, "it's okay. Everything's okay." Meryl bit her tongue against another protest, as he nodded encouragingly at the bandit. The gun continued its slow path until it was pointed at Vash's face. He smiled softly at the man holding the revolver. A calm had supplanted that terrifying rage, now that there was no longer a gun aimed at her skull.

"Good. Good job," Vash soothed, the bandit now drenched in sweat, literally shaking in his boots. Vash quirked another funny little smile, this one deceptively trustworthy, "We don't really want to do this, do we?"

The man looked up at the gun pressed to his forehead, then darted his uncertain eyes back at Vash's face. "I'm just... I'm just doing my job!" he pleaded.

The corner of Vash's mouth curled with amusement. "Hell of a job," he commented. "Maybe you should get into another field."

Meryl caught movement in the left of her periphery, and turned to see three more bandits approaching from the other end of the hall. They stopped fifteen paces away, eying the tableau before them curiously. Vash didn't turn his head, but the renewed tension in his shoulders told her that he knew they were there. The bandit at the center of the trio spoke up, "Problems, Ed?"

The man with the revolver, "Ed", kept his frightened eyes fixed on Vash as he stammered, "Uh... yeah, Gene... some."

Meryl watched as the man she now knew to be "Gene" craned his neck to get a better view of the standoff between Vash and Ed. He lifted his gun, the other two following suit, and chuckled as he asked, "And what's Romeo there packing?"

"Um..." Ed said uncertainly, his eyes practically crossing as he attempted to ascertain what sort of weapon was being held against his brow.

"It's a derringer," Vash supplied, still smiling in a way that was soft and unreadable.

"Oh! A derringer! Well, now..." Gene laughed, "that _is_ terrifying."

Ed looked at Vash, the blond's smile unnerving, as if he knew something Ed didn't. He struggled to defend himself, to make the gravity of his situation understood by his comrades, "You don't understand... this guy..."

"Can it, Ed," Gene commanded, hefting a semi-automatic weapon with both hands. "You've screwed up enough for one night. Drop your pistol, Romeo. Game's over."

Gene started to walk towards them, the other gunmen flanking his sides. Meryl took a deep breath, and in a movement that wasn't quite as quick as Vash, used her left hand to retrieve the colt at the small of Vash's back. Not as quick as Vash, but apparently, quick enough. Gene and his associates were left gaping as they found themselves on the business end of a handgun that was longer than the forearm of the girl who held it. Meryl tightened the grip she had around Vash's neck, pulling herself against his chest to steady the shoulder bracing her gun arm.

The solidness of her stance did not escape Gene. She was holding that gun like she knew what to do with it, even if she was still sitting pretty on her boyfriend's hips. Gene trained his gun on her with the same cool gaze. He wasn't about to let this whole operation go to shit on account of a pair of interrupted lovers. "Put that away before you get hurt, little girl," he snarled. "I'm giving you to the count of three, and then you both die! One!"

Meryl fought to clear her mind, to chase out the fear. She allowed the solidness of Vash to comfort her, the certainty that he could figure a way out of anything. Even this.

"Two!"

Vash could see himself and Meryl in his mind, both with left arms extended, pressed against each other, mirrored postures against the threat. He watched the man in front of him while extending his senses to the three on the other side. He felt a moment of fear. He could dodge bullets. Meryl could not.

"Three!"

Meryl let all the air from her lungs, taking slow, careful aim. She waited with cold precision. She felt Vash the vibration of impact shudder through Vash's shoulder, and heard a muffled crunch as his left fist connected with something. Probably Ed's face. _Now. _ She squeezed the trigger, and if she hadn't been pressed against Vash, the recoil would have knocked her down that hall. Gene toppled to the floor with a yell as she straightened her arm, preparing to fire again, but the other two were already...

Vash pushed backwards so quickly that the motion actually made her stomach drop. She shut her eyes against the deafening tattoo of gunfire, the clatter of expelled rounds hitting the floor. She could feel the bullets as they displaced the air along their whizzing paths, just barely missing their intended targets as Vash flew backwards. His left arm was suddenly around her, she could make out the press of her derringer as he tightened his grip. Vash kept his footing when he hit a dead-end, his back slamming into the wall opposite his cabin's door. His right hand came up to share the hold she still held on the colt. He aimed their arms, her finger on the trigger and his on top. He squeezed and the silver gun fired. She followed as he pointed right, and tightened his trigger finger over hers again. The two shots were so close together, that if she hadn't _felt_ it, she would have sworn he'd only fired once.

The gunfire stopped as the ghostly echo of Vash's weapon reverberated against the walls. Meryl slowly, carefully, opened one eye and then the other to gaze around the now eerily silent hallway. Three bodies lay prone on the floor in front of her. She could hear their soft groans of pain. Vash was still holding her tight with his left arm, and she practically had a stranglehold around his neck. Her ear was pressed against his shoulder as she stared down her left arm, still holding Vash's gun, his hand overlapping hers. It was like a strange dance.

"Meryl? You okay?" She pulled back to look up into his worried face. She noticed then that she was shaking.

She nodded. "Yeah... yeah, I'm fine."

His brow was still creased uncertainly. "You sure? You're not hurt?"

She smiled then as the fact that the fight had concluded, and they were both unharmed, settled in. "Yes, Vash. I'm alright."

He released his hold on the colt and it fumbled from her weakened grasp. There was an ache in her wrist from the weapon's recoil. He held her tightly with both arms, sighing an abatement of tension into her hair. "Vash?" she asked, as she comprehended the meaning behind the intensity of his relief. "You were scared, weren't you?"

He laughed, a small sound. She felt his lips move against her forehead as he answered, "Maybe a little."

"Vash!" She wrapped her other arm around his neck. She held on tightly, protectively. "I'm okay," she assured again. "Thank you."

He pulled back and she met his eyes. "Meryl?"

"Yes, Vash?"

"Uh... Do you... would you like...?"

Meryl grinned. _God, he's cute when he's nervous. _ "What is it, Vash?" she coaxed.

"Er..." he stammered uncertainly, "Do you wanna get down?"

Meryl couldn't help the influx of blood to her face, and wondered if she had actually blushed herself blue, as she realized she still had both legs firmly wrapped around Vash's waist. "Oh, sure... um... sorry, I didn't realize..."

"No! I'm not complaining, or anything..." Vash hurried to amend. "It's just that, I think my leg is bleeding..."

"What!?" Meryl quickly unhooked her feet, nearly strangling Vash as his neck was left to support her weight. She wobbled as her heels reconnected with the floor. It seemed her leg muscles had gone a little stiff. Her eyes raced over him, and quickly found a growing dark spot on his thigh that stood out from the navy of the suit. "You were hit? Why didn't you say something, broomhead?" she demanded with an irritated glare as she bent to inspect the wound.

"It just grazed me," he defended. "It's really not... hey!" Meryl had found the hole in the pant leg through which the bullet had passed, and had torn it wider to get a better look at the wound itself. Vash pouted as she assessed that it had indeed only grazed him, and that the bleeding would most likely stop on its own. "Karen's gonna kill me," he grumbled as he regarded his ruined pants.

"Relax," Meryl smiled. "She'd have to get through me."

Vash knew he was probably grinning like an idiot, but he couldn't help it. The idea of Meryl coming to his defense, even if she was only joking, had a giddy, stupefying effect on him. But, wasn't there something...? _Oh yeah! Bandits hijacking the steamer. Wounded men to check on. _

Apparently, Meryl wasn't as distracted by him as he seemed to be by her. She was already on task, inspecting the damage they'd done to their would-be assailants.

"Dammit," Vash muttered as he leaned over an unconscious Ed, "I think I broke his jaw. I really didn't mean to hit him that hard."

Meryl tried to look sympathetic, but she couldn't bring herself to be quite as distressed over Ed's fate as Vash seemed to be. _He's lucky that's all he got, freaking pervert. _ She changed the subject, "Well, at least I don't think they're after the bounty. They didn't seem to know who you were. Unfortunately, there's probably more where these four came from." She shuddered to think what kind of chaos had most likely settled over the rest of the steamer.

"Yeah," Vash nodded. "When we're finished here we should try to find Millie and Wolfwood."

Vash moved on to assess Gene and the two men who'd been with him. Nice clean shots. Right through the shoulder. Incapacitating, but not fatal. His face beamed with pride as he realized Meryl had taken out Gene all by herself. It was a perfect shot to the right shoulder. He couldn't have done it better himself. "That's good shooting, Meryl. I mean, I know you're a dead shot, but with my gun? That's actually pretty amazing!"

"Eh... Funny thing..." Meryl laughed nervously as she unconsciously adopted Vash's trademark posture of _'whoops!'_: her hand scratching absently at the back of her head. She hated to rain on Vash's parade, but... "Actually, I was aiming for his kneecap."

* * *

"_How do you know about the plants in southern Cornelia?"  
_  
Knives was losing patience with his sister. What had started out as a conversation had become a game of riddles as she cagily avoided giving him straight answers. That is, if she answered him at all. His latest question received only laughter in response. 

Several years ago, Knives had assigned Legato Bluesummers the task of emptying whole settlements in southern Cornelia, both as a message to Vash, and as a way to allow his sisters to recuperate. In the time since, those settlements had remained uninhabited. Knives had assumed it was the humans' fear that kept them from returning. He should have known better.

Human beings were concerned with one thing only: their survival. They had short memories, and on a planet as arid and unwelcoming as Gunsmoke, a rash of mysterious disappearances wouldn't have been enough to keep them away from the allure of habitable land. During his last healing stint in a bulb, he'd learned from glimpsing his sister's mind that the humans had not returned to southern Cornelia because the plants were failing.

At the time, he'd been so concerned with the 'why'- why his sisters dying, even now that the threat was gone- that it hadn't occurred to him to wonder 'how'- how his sister knew the fates of plants located iles from her own settlement. In the course of this conversation with one of the New Oregon "Sky City" plants, she'd alluded to knowledge of the southern Cornelian plants. Now, he was trying to discover not only how much she knew, but how she knew it. His sister, however, was being less than cooperative, her frustratingly childish lack of focus reminding him of another plant he knew: a particularly irritating free-walker.

"_Are you going to answer me?"_ he asked again, trying to control his temper as the plant's gaze flitted aimlessly about the bulb.

"_You should ask your brother," _she said with a Cheshire grin, before floating back towards the bulb's center.  
_  
"Vash!? What the hell does he know!? Hey!" _ She laughed again, an annoying echoing sound, but offered nothing by way of an explanation as she disappeared into the bulb's center.

"_Dammit! Get back here!" _ The hands he held against the glass rolled into fists. He knew she could hear him, but apparently she was done playing.

Knives grumbled and swore to himself as he marched away from the bulb. Somehow everything became his responsibility. You'd think he was the only one who gave a damn what became of them all. And Vash! It always came back to Vash, didn't it? In his haste to return to his quarters, Knives nearly tripped over a human in the hall, and the resulting growl sent the creature skittering away. _Fuck! _Vash had been gone for nearly a month, and Knives wasn't sure how much more of this shit he could take.

When little brother got home (which had better be soon), they were going to have a long talk.

* * *

Wolfwood planted his feet to halt a dead run, spinning so that his back was against the wall at the corner of a perpendicular crossing of hallways. Millie, several paces behind, stopped as well, nodding to indicate that she too had heard the pounding of footfalls around the corner. The screech of rubber-soled shoes informed them that the bandit was aware of them, as well. Wolfwood could almost feel the shadow of his invisible adversary, ready and pressed against the opposing wall. 

_Damn! How many of these guys are there?_

With a gesture of his hand, Millie fell back a few steps. Wolfwood had hoped that they had met the last of the bandits patrolling the hallways. He didn't have time for this. More importantly, he didn't have the patience.

Surprise. Speed. He would take this guy out before he knew what was happening. Wolfwood pushed off from the wall using his momentum to create the torque that would whip him and the aim of his Punisher around the corner. Too slow. As fast as Wolfwood moved, his adversary moved faster. He found himself with his gun half-raised, out in the open, facing the steady aim of a particularly nasty looking weapon.

His opponent smirked. "Gotcha."

Wolfwood lowered his weapon and raised a free hand to point an emphatic accusation. "YOU!"

Vash frowned defensively as he lowered his colt. "Me? What did I do?"

The priest growled, undaunted as he took another step towards the outlaw. "You leave your cabin, you disappear, and the next thing I know I'm ass-deep in hijackers! I only get into this kind of shit when you're around!"

"Somehow," said Meryl, materializing from behind Vash, "I find that difficult to believe." She was holding a derringer in one hand. Her bare feet would explain why Wolfwood had only heard Vash as the two ran down the hall.

"You should work on those reflexes, preacher man," Vash grinned. "I would've had you."

"You wish! Be grateful I realized it was you before I shot your sneaky ass!" He lowered his voice as he mumbled, "Spikey bastard."

"What did you say?"

"You heard me!"

"I had you cold, you jerk! You wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Say that again, Spikey!"

"Oi!" Meryl pushed herself between the men who now hovered menacingly in each other's faces, fists raised. "Knock it off, idiots! I'm not in the mood to babysit!" She landed simultaneous whacks on each of their skulls. Wolfwood scowled defiantly as Vash pitifully rubbed at his newly bruised head.

"He started it," Vash grumbled, which earned him a warning glare from Meryl.

"You guys are so silly," Millie giggled. "I could watch you all day! I'm so glad everyone is okay though! We were in the casino when they tried to take everyone hostage, but luckily Nicholas was in the bathroom, so he caught them by surprise when he came out."

"Did you have any trouble?" Vash asked. "I didn't know you were armed."

Wolfwood shrugged. "Nah. There were only seven of them, and I don't go anywhere without a handgun. Not since the time I had to fight an army of killer robots with your broken pocketknife." Wolfwood grinned despite himself at the memory. Hanging around Vash really did land him in the most ridiculous situations. "Millie and I stopped off for our weapons after we took care of the situation in the casino. Where'd they get you?"

"In the hallway by my cabin," Vash answered, shifting a little uneasily. "They sort of caught us a little off guard."

Millie's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. "Why were you two...?" She looked at Mr. Vash who was avoiding her eyes and scratching at the back of his neck. Sempai was blushing furiously. Millie's mouth made a little 'o' of recognition before she hid the expression behind an enormous grin. "Well, it's just important that you're okay!" She heard Nicholas chuckle and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. "So what do we do now?"

Meryl collected what thin remnants of dignity she could muster, willing an expression of authoritative resolve past the heat in her cheeks. "We have to figure out how many of them there are, where they are and what they're planning to do. And..." she sighed tiredly, "we have to figure out a way off of this ship. As soon as we get to March there will be Cavalry crawling all over this place."

Wolfwood sighed, looking even more tired than Meryl. "Hey, Spikey."

"Yeah?"

"You really suck at being inconspicuous."

Vash's temper flared again. Something Wolfwood seemed to have a real talent for inciting. "Like no one noticed your scene in the casino?"

Wolfwood pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. Vash was right. "We should've just let this play out. Stayed out of it."

"Wolfwood!" Vash fixed him with a sad look, a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. The disbelief was to be expected. That particular naïve expression that told him Vash couldn't even begin to contemplate a course of action that didn't involve rushing to the rescue. But the disappointment was harder to swallow, even as it gave birth to a familiar mixture of guilt and shame. A desire to act heroically if only it would mean that he'd never fail to live up to Vash's expectations again. Even if that desire most often led Wolfwood precariously close to death.

"Wolfwood's right." This from Meryl. Wolfwood looked at her with surprise, and Vash spared her a measure of that horror and disappointment that had so neatly undone the priest. It didn't have the same effect on Meryl. She glared back at Vash in a way that clearly told him to grow up and knock it off. "We're supposed to be in hiding, and this is definitely not helping that cause. But we all know that none of us could just sit back and let this happen. It doesn't really matter anyway; we're already involved." _Dammit. Why the hell did it have to be this steamer that got __hijacked_. She looked around at her friends, suddenly aware that they were wasting time. "Let's just finish this."

"Right!" Millie set herself to business with renewed enthusiasm. Of course they were going to help! And everything would work out just fine. Sempai and Nicholas would see. "There are thirty-four members in the gang. They hijacked the escort trucks and entered through the hold. They planned to control the passengers, make a robbery, and get off the same way they got onboard."

Vash blinked. "How do you know all that?"

Wolfwood grinned wickedly. "We asked." The way the priest was smiling, Vash hoped for the sake of the unlucky bandit, that he had submitted to the interrogation without too much fuss.

If Meryl objected to Wolfwood's methods, she gave no indication. "Good. Millie and I will get everyone's belongings and head for the hold. If these guys were going to get off the ship that way, then we should be able to, as well."

"I'm guessing less than half the gang is still operational," Wolfwood said. "If I were them, I'd be freaking out. They're probably in the control room by now. Trying to make some sort of a stand. Tongari and I'll head up there and finish cleaning this mess up. We'll meet you in the hold when we're done."

Meryl looked from the priest to Vash, who nodded. "Okay," she said, "we'll be ready."

"Okay, team! Break!" Millie cheered, snagging Meryl's arm. "Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, spinning back around with Meryl still attached. "Where are your keys, Mr. Vash? We have to get your things out of your room."

"Oh...huh..." Mr. Vash blushed a curious shade of pink as he contemplated the answer to Millie's question. His eyes flashed briefly on Meryl. "Well, I suppose they're still in the hallway where I dropped them. Um, they should be just outside of my door."

To Vash's relief, Millie replied with a blithe 'okay' and didn't question him further. Meryl was avoiding eye contact. And though he couldn't see it, he just _knew_ that damned priest was grinning like a maniac behind his back. Still, as Millie began to draw Meryl down the hall in the opposite direction, he couldn't help himself. "Meryl!"

She turned and met his eyes, and for a moment he thought he'd forgotten what he was going to say. Then he realized he'd never planned farther than simply calling out her name in the first place. "Be careful," he tried lamely, but she smiled in recognition of things unsaid.

"You, too," she said softly, and he smiled back at her before turning to go. "And, Vash?" she called as an afterthought, causing him to stop and face her again. Her smile shifted sideways, quirking wryly at the corner, "I know it's a pointless request, but try not to do anything stupid."

"Fat chance," Wolfwood scoffed, but Vash ignored him, his eyes fixed on Meryl.

"Today's that day, insurance girl," he grinned. "I won't let you down."


	15. Plan of Reaction

**Title:** _After the Fall_  
**Author:** Girl.Interpreted  
**Betas:** Alaena Night & Sugar Pill & Abaddon Nox  
**Timeline:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a manga topping  
**Pairings:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/Hermione Granger  
**Genre:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action  
**Rating:** T- for violence, language, sexual content  
**Archive:** Please contact me for permission.  
**Disclaimer:**_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary:** Last time: Vash's multi-tasking skills were put to the test as he attempted to unlock a door with Meryl around his waist. Things seemed to be going swimmingly until Vash dropped the keys and our couple was interrupted by an armed bandit. _This _is why Meryl hates sandsteamers. But, a lone bandit vs. the Humanoid Typhoon and a seriously ticked of Meryl "Derringer" Stryfe? Bad move, Mr. Hijacker, bad move. Meanwhile, Lina was eavesdropping on a disturbing conversation between Miss Elisabeth and the Professor. Mad scientist performing suspicious research of a morally questionable nature? Check. Government in cahoots with mad-scientific organization? Check. Lina being lied to and used as a way for the Professor to ultimately get to Vash? Double check. Now that Lina knows the truth, it's time for that bird to fly. Back on the steamer, just as it seemed Vash had 'handled' their assailant, he and Meryl were set upon by three more. Four on two? That hardly seems fair. I almost feel sorry for the hijackers ;). Back in New Oregon, Knives had a fairly one-sided conversation with one of his sisters that left him with more questions than answers. However, there is one thing of which he is certain: Somehow, it must be Vash's fault. Wolfwood seemed to be of the same opinion when he and Millie ran into Meryl and Vash. But it wasn't Vash's fault! Honest! It's a total coincidence that trouble blossoms where ever he treads. The plan when we left off? Wolfwood and Vash would neutralize the remaining hijackers while Millie and Meryl secured a getaway in the ship's hold. Obviously, there is nothing that could possibly go wrong from here.

**A/N: **I think this chapter will put this story past the 100,000 word mark. Um... whoa. How did that happen? I don't know if I could ever properly express how much I appreciate everyone who's followed this story, taken the time to review and share their thoughts. Thank you. Even those of you who are just reading, but haven't wanted to leave a review, it's all good. If you have gotten this far, and are reading this, I am truly humbled. That's a lot of material to read. I just really hope that you are enjoying it. My betas! 100,000 words! Aren't you excited/horrified? I can't thank you properly without dragging this author's note out (and it's already too long), but just know that I am dumbfounded with gratitude.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Plan of Reaction**

* * *

"Hey look! A map!" Vash skidded to a halt as his head turned to face a framed layout of the _Endurance._

Wolfwood took several more long strides before he was forced to stop and go back. His eyebrow twitched as he considered the outlaw who was scratching the back of his head with the butt of his gun as he studied the map. "Dammit, Spikey! You're wasting time. We are _not _lost!"

Vash did not point out that they had passed the same corridor at least three times. He ignored Wolfwood as he squinted at a little dot emblazoned with an arrow informing him that he was 'here'. He traced the miniature representation of the hallway in which they stood with his finger. "If we're here, then we should go..." The resounding echo of shots fired and screams broke off Vash's observation. He raised his head in the direction from which the clamor had originated and blinked, "...that way."

"No shit," Wolfwood remarked as he took off running. "I told you we weren't lost."

Vash didn't comment as they rounded a corner and found a handful of the ship's crew huddled in the hall outside of the control room. The door was open, and the men were pressed against the wall outside it, weapons drawn. The man closest to the door's frame looked particularly shaken. Heavy drops of sweat rolled down his face. From the difference in his uniform, Vash guessed that he was the highest ranking member of the crew present. That made him the man in charge.

Vash sidled up next to the man, Wolfwood coming up close behind to cover. The frightened crew member turned surprised eyes on the new arrivals, not sure if they were friend or foe, but too startled to react. "Hey there!" Vash grinned. "What's up?"

The man blinked rapidly, his voice coming in a halted stutter, "Th- they've got th-the captain and, um, five, I think five, hostages... they..."

"How many hijackers?" Wolfwood interrupted.

"I, uh..." the crewman looked at the priest with wide, confused eyes, "I-I'm not really..."

Wolfwood put a hand on the man's shoulder and started to move past him. "You mind if I...?"

The crewman blinked hard and looked around at the rest of the men he suddenly found himself in charge of. They appeared as green and ill-equipped as he felt.

The newcomers, however, seemed awfully confident of whatever the hell it was they were doing. He turned back to Wolfwood and nodded, "S-sure. Go ahead."

"Thanks," Wolfwood replied as he pulled a handgun from the rack within his punisher and dipped his head around the edge of the doorframe. The priest got off three shots before the return fire forced him back into the hall.

"Well?" Vash asked, absently spinning the cylinder of his revolver before snapping it back into place.

"There were ten, and now there are seven. Six hostages. One is the captain, three are crew, and the other two seem to be passengers."

"You only looked for, like, two seconds!" protested the crewman in charge.

Wolfwood spared him a withering glare before continuing, "Looks messy, Spikey. One of the hostages seems pretty injured."

"Assholes in the hallway!" came a shout from within the control room. "We are done dicking around with you! Send someone in to hear our demands! And don't try any bullshit or we will execute the hostages!"

Vash and Wolfwood both turned to the man in charge. His eyes went even wider as he realized the implied responsibility of his new-found, unsought position of command. "Negotiate? I-I've never... that is..."

Vash placed a comforting hand on the crewman's shoulder as he stepped past him. "Hey, friend, mind if I try?"

The crewman nodded gratefully as he slumped back against the wall. Wolfwood readied his weapon, but Vash stopped him. "Stand down, Wolfwood. I've got this."

"Spikey..." he started to protest.

Vash turned back and smiled in a way that most people would find both comforting and disarming. However, knowing Vash as he did, Wolfwood found the expression troubling and suspicious. Vash continued to grin innocently as he turned into the control room. "Don't worry. I've got a plan."

Wolfwood leaped for Vash, trying to get a hold on the outlaw's sleeve before he entered the room and inevitably did something stupid. Vash was too quick for him though, and Wolfwood was forced to return to hall outside the door as Vash faced down a room full of angry, desperate bandits.

Vash surveyed the room as he leveled his colt at the bandit in the center, the one who was holding a gun to the captain's head. Negotiation was always the preferable option, but given the desperate state of these hijackers, and the swiftly failing health of one of the captives, Vash doubted that course of action was feasible. He could try to take them all out by force, but there were too many innocent hostages. If he tried to make an offensive move, someone was going to be killed.

That left only one option.

"Drop your piece!" commanded the bandit at the center, most likely the gang's leader. He pressed his weapon against the captain's head and tightened his grip around the man's neck.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vash asked darkly. Outrage flashed over the bandit's face and he opened his mouth to respond, but Vash cut him off, "I'll tell you what you're doing: pissing me off. And _that _is a bad idea."

The hijacker's resolve seemed to waver. He squinted at Vash as he asked, "Who _are _you?"

"Don't you know?" He glared at the hijacker, trying to look as menacing as possible. _Meryl's going to kill me. That is, if Wolfwood doesn't first. _Vash allowed a twisted little smirk to spread over his features as he said, "I'm Vash the Stampede."

* * *

Meryl and Millie entered the hold cautiously. The gang had undoubtedly left someone to guard their vehicles. The only question was: how many? The women slipped between boxes and crates, ears straining for any sound in the ringing silence of the large room. Eventually, they walked out into the open. It was hard to believe, but it was true: no guards. 

"Amateurs," Meryl muttered under her breath.

"Maybe they left when things started to go wrong upstairs," Millie speculated as she stowed her stungun beneath her duster.Meryl, now in her traveling clothes, kept one derringer in hand, but slipped another back into the folds of her cape. The bandits had left their cache of escape vehicles gathered near the hatch of the hold, ready to go. Meryl sighed heavily as she appraised what they had to work with.

"A motorcycle gang. Wouldn't it just figure?" There were over twenty bikes facing the exit, and only one truck. But, they couldn't forget the fact that the escort vehicles, the ones following the ship outside, had been hijacked as well. To escape, they were going to have to get past those. Meryl approached the truck. The door was unlocked, but the keys weren't in the ignition. She got into the driver's seat and overturned the visor. The keys fell in her lap. "Typical," she commented.

She got out of the truck and handed the keys to Millie before assessing the rest of the bandits' fleet. Millie was already loading their belongings into the truck as Meryl confirmed that none of the motorcycles' owners had left their keys behind. "Dammit," she muttered.

"What is it, Sempai?" Millie asked.

"It's just that motorcycles are harder to hotwire than cars," Meryl answered, biting her lip. "Get me a knife out of the boys' luggage, Millie."

"But, Sempai," Millie wondered, even as she instantly complied with the request, "why do we need a motorcycle when we have a truck?"

Meryl paused before answering, contemplating the bike she'd chosen. It was a _Tribute Sidewinder_. Ten years old. She was familiar with the make. It had a few modifications that made it better suited for maneuvering in the deep sand of open desert, as well as a push button ignition. Unfortunately, there was also a lock on the front forks that would make it impossible to steer. "Hey, Millie? See if you can't bash that lock off with your stun-gun."

Still patiently awaiting an explanation, Millie hefted the giant weapon over her shoulder and brought the hilt down hard on the lock. It snapped off on the first try. "Thanks," Meryl smiled as she removed the rest of the mechanism.

"Um, Sempai," Millie began as she offered Meryl a pocketknife, "you still haven't said why you're stealing that motorcycle."

"Because, Millie," Meryl answered as she pried the ignition out of its socket. Three wires trailed out along with the piece of metal. She ignored the black wire, cutting both the green and red, and began to strip them, "it's part of my plan."

* * *

"YOU IDIOT!!" Wolfwood screamed as he sprinted alongside the stupidest gunman on the planet. 

Vash ducked as a bullet ricocheted near his head, and put on a burst of speed as the shouts of their pursuers grew nearer. "What?" he defended. "They let the hostages go didn't they?"

Wolfwood put out a hand to stop himself from colliding with a wall as they sharply turned a corner. "Yeah, great! Now the hijackers _and_ the crew are chasing us... chasing _you_, spikes-for-brains!"

Vash somehow managed to sigh dejectedly while running at full speed, "I kind of thought the crew would be glad that we saved them. Guess that's gratitude for you."

Wolfwood continued to mutter an unbroken chain of creative swear words and threats for several seconds before he realized that Vash was no longer beside him. He spun back around, and to his horror, found the gunman studying the map they'd found earlier. "What are you doing?!" Wolfwood gripped the back of Vash's collar and forcibly dragged him down the hall just as the mob of bandits and crewmen rounded the corner. Wolfwood shouted at Vash as he awkwardly returned fire over his shoulder, "Spikey, we're going to the hold! The hold is down! We go down! We don't need the goddamn map!"

They came to a T-shaped intersection. Vash went left. Wolfwood went right. They stared at each other for a moment across the hall and the rain of gunfire preventing either man from crossing to the other's side. Vash was pretty sure he'd never seen that particular vein bulge out against the priest's forehead. "For fuck's sake, Vash!"

"You said 'down'!" Vash cried. "You didn't say 'left' or 'right'!"

For a moment, Wolfwood contemplated crossing no-man's-land, if only to have the opportunity to wring Vash's neck with his own two hands. There wasn't any time though. The men chasing them would soon give up on firing at an empty hall, and would continue their pursuit. "Go find the girls," Vash said. "I'll catch up."

"Spikey! You stupid..."

But Vash had already taken off running, declaring his whereabouts to their pursuers in a loud voice, "This way, guys! Vash the Stampede! Worth two-hundred billion! Hurry, while supplies last!"

Wolfwood ducked into a stairwell and watched as the mob boiled down the opposite hall after Vash. He shook his head. He'd never understand that man. He really shouldn't even bother to try. He knew that he was willing to die for him, and that Vash would do the same, and yet... sometimes...

Wolfwood silenced the thought as he began to run down the stairs. Vash's actions didn't always (or even often) make sense. In Wolfwood's opinion, Vash tended to make situations a lot messier and more complicated than necessary. Still, he always found a solution. Usually one that Wolfwood himself had been blind to. Telling the hijackers his true identity, and thus dangling a two-hundred billion double-dollar decoy in front of their noses, had to be both the dumbest, and most ingenious, plan Wolfwood had ever seen him come up with.

"Okay, Spikey," Wolfwood muttered, "let's see you get out of this one."

* * *

"Girls?!" 

Wolfwood didn't bother to keep his voice down as he raced into the hold. He had, after all, nothing but complete faith in the duo's ability to secure their getaway.

Millie met him first and grabbed his hand, leading him through a maze of stacked crates, "Nick! You okay? Did it go well?"

Before Wolfwood could reply, Meryl appeared. She appraised him briefly before demanding, "Where's Vash?"

"Hey, Meryl," he greeted sarcastically, "I'm fine, thanks. Vash should be appearing with a pack of bounty hunters on his heels, oh... any moment now, so I hope you're ready to go."

"What?!" Meryl blocked the priest's path as the trio emerged into the open space holding the hijackers' escape vehicles. "Bounty hunters? Why...?"

"He told them who he was."

Meryl blinked, disbelief and confusion preventing her from replying. Wolfwood looked at her pointedly, and a flash of understanding that sometimes passed between them concerning Vash registered without further explanation. "That... that... IDIOT!" Meryl raged.

"Uh huh," Wolfwood agreed.

"Now, Sempai," Millie began carefully, concern creasing her forehead as Meryl's fists tightened and her hands began to shake, "try to stay calm. You know that Mr. Vash only ever does what he thinks is best. He really does mean well..."

"Truck. Now. Go," Meryl forced through clenched teeth, her arm raising to stiffly point in the direction of their primary means of escape.

Sensing Meryl's precarious control on her anger, Millie wisely headed for the truck without further comment, dragging Wolfwood behind her. The priest shot a perplexed look back over his shoulder at Meryl. "What about you?" he asked.

Meryl didn't turn as she answered, "I'm waiting for Vash."

"Huh?"

Millie gave his hand another tug as he hesitated, "Don't worry. I'll explain, but it doesn't seem like we have much time, so I need you to just get in the truck and be ready, okay?"

"Okay, but..." Wolfwood looked back again to find that Meryl was gone, "... what are you girls up to?"

Millie smiled at him as she hoisted herself into the truck's passenger seat, "Meryl's got a plan."

* * *

Really, as plans went, he'd had better. 

Vash had hoped that a healthy fear of "the Stampede" might be enough to make the bandits back down. He'd hoped, but he hadn't really counted on that. Of all the possible consequences of his admission, he'd kinda figured that the one where they gave up on the paltry take to be had in a steamer robbery, and gave chase to the far superior prize of the planet's biggest bounty, was the most likely of outcomes. Which was fine. As long as they gave up the hostages, which they had. Everyone had seen those wanted posters, so as soon as Vash declared his true identity, a chorus of recognition dawned over the crowd. Really, it had worked like a charm.

The problem would be that Vash had not taken into account the possibility that $$200 billion might be too much for _anyone_ to pass up. Crew members included. No sooner had he been released, than the captain ordered that Vash be arrested. And as he considered the mob behind him, Vash was startled by just how quickly old grudges could be forgotten. Crewman and bandit alike were united in their common goal. Vash might have found it a touching testament to the human spirit, if not for the fact that _he_ was said common goal.

_This is so not fair._

Try as he might, Vash just couldn't seem to lose them. And, he was really getting hungry. He began to wonder if the girls had thought to pack some food, and what sort of food they might have gotten, before he remembered that he should really be focusing on the 'escape' portion of his plan. Unfortunately, there wasn't any 'escape' portion of his plan. Sure, he was running, but running wasn't so much of a 'plan', as simply part of his normal routine. And why was he thinking so much about 'planning'? He never planned anything. That's what Meryl did. He just got into trouble and reacted. And on his own, that had always been enough. But with others? What if action and reaction wasn't enough? What if his lack of planning got them all injured, or...?

Vash got to a stairwell and almost didn't take it. How could he lead a mob of armed bounty hunters towards his friends? But his friends would wait for him. And if he didn't show up, they'd come looking for him. He'd told Meryl he'd meet her in the hold. He'd told Wolfwood to find the girls. He'd told him he'd catch up. Vash turned the corner and began to race down the stairs. He didn't have a plan, so he'd have to trust Meryl's. He had to trust that when he reached the hold, his friends would be ready.

He was already pretty tired, but Vash put on a burst of speed to add a little distance between himself and his pursuers as he neared his destination. Wolfwood might not have been happy at the time, but Vash was glad he'd gotten a look at that map. He charged into the hold and immediately found himself being jerked behind a crate with surprising force.

He smiled widely as he recognized the source of the assault, "Short girl!"

"Shut up!" Meryl clapped a hand over his mouth as she continued to coax him further into hiding by way of several forceful tugs on his arm. She didn't seem nearly as pleased to see him as he was to see her. Her gaze was focused beneath a sharply creased brow on the door through which he'd entered the hold.

"Mmhmm mm fmmeh!"

"Huh?" She removed her hand from his mouth as she finally looked at him.

"They're after me... I'm being chased..."

"I know that!" she hissed. "Keep it down!"

She turned from him with an irritated look, and continued to silently pick her way through boxes and crates. Vash carefully followed. "Where are Millie and Wolfwood?"

"Shh!"

Rebuked again, Vash held his tongue as she stepped around another crate, revealing a motorcycle hidden from view. There was a gap in the crates surrounding it, large enough for the bike the pass through. Beyond, Vash could see several other motorcycles, a truck, and the open hatch of the hold, the desert passing swiftly by outside in the gray half-light of the short hours before daybreak.

A hundred protests and questions flew through Vash's mind. "Meryl..." he began, but the newly-formed posse of bounty hunters chose that moment to burst into the hold. Within moments they flowed out into the room in a teeming mass , and Vash found Meryl's hand firmly planted over his mouth once more. Suddenly, the truck took off, flying through the open hatch, trailed by the bullets and shouts of the mob.

As the bandits mounted their bikes and gave chase, Meryl was glad that she hadn't gone with her original plan of flattening all of their tires. There were enough bandits that, if left behind on the steamer, she couldn't be certain they wouldn't attempt to hijack the ship again.

Meryl turned to Vash, "Ready?"

Most of the bandits were gone. And with no means of transportation, the crewmen were standing around with a certain degree of impotent dejection, though their weapons were still at the ready.

"Ready?!" Vash turned on her with obvious alarm. "Meryl! I can't drive a motorcycle!"

Meryl didn't answer. She threw her leg over the bike and snatched up several wires trailing out from where the ignition should have been. She turned her head to look at Vash, who hadn't moved, and was staring at her with a stupefied expression. "Broomhead. Who said anything about _you_ driving?" She passed the stripped ends of a green and red wire over each other and the engine roared to life. Several heads turned in the direction of their hiding place as Meryl adjusted the throttle and the bike growled in response. "Hurry and get on!" she commanded.

"What _are_ you?!" Vash asked as he straddled the seat behind her.

In answer, Meryl revved the engine and dropped the clutch, sending the bike rocketing forward. An extremely startled gunman found himself gripping her waist for dear life as the back tire squealed and fishtailed across the floor before the bike's course straightened. Several crewmen were forced to duck for cover as the motorcycle plowed past them and launched airborne through the hold's hatch.

"AHHHH!"

"Vash!" Meryl yelled back over the howling pitch of the wind as they hit the sand. "Quit screaming in my ear! And don't hold on so tight! You have work to do!"

Vash looked up to find they were gaining on both the motorcycles and the hijacked escort vehicles that were chasing Wolfwood and Millie. "So... you drive, and I shoot?!"

"That's the idea!"

Vash pulled the colt from its temporary home at the small of his back. "Right!"

He started by shooting out the tires of the motorcycles closest to them. The disabled vehicles and their riders fell behind them in tumbling heaps. Meryl swerved to avoid one of the fallen bandits, and Vash had to lower his gun to hold on. Another bandit took the opportunity to attack, his bike converging on them as he attempted to ram them from the side.

Vash kicked out, his foot connecting with the other bike and sending its rider over the handle bars. They weaved erratically for a few moments as Vash's sudden movement knocked their bike off balance, and Meryl struggled to regain control. "Careful!" she yelled, leaning down over the handle bars and accelerating.

"Yes, ma'am," Vash squeaked from behind her, as he carefully released the death grip he had reestablished around her waist.

Meryl handled the motorcycle with adept proficiency. Her weight leaned with easy grace from side to side as she maneuvered through deep, loose sand, around rocks and fallen riders alike. As her unerring control became apparent, Vash was able to relax enough to quickly take out the rest of the motorcycles, as well as the majority of the escort vehicles. There was only one left, a large flatbed, and it was quickly gaining on Wolfwood and Millie. It had even managed to bump the smaller, jeep-style truck from behind a few times.

Meryl bore down on it with growing urgency. Vash's arm came over her shoulder and he fired twice. The chains that held the truck's gate in place came flying off. "Ready?!" he asked.

_Huh? Ready for what? _ Meryl looked at the back of the truck they were chasing. When the chains had come loose, the gate had fallen and was now dragging on the ground. She could see the open bed of the truck, and the trailing gate looked almost like... almost like a... a ramp. "Oh, no!! No no, Vash! No way!!" Her eyes went wide and she furiously shook her head, realizing what he had in mind.

"Meryl! You can do this!" he encouraged. "It'll work! When we hit the gate our inertia will keep us moving at the exact same speed relative to the ground..."

"What?! What the hell are you...?"

She swore that she could make out an exasperated sigh over the roar of moving air. Cutting her off, he yelled, "Just trust me and go!"

It was insane. _He_ was insane! There was no way! But... if they didn't... She could hear gunfire. She knew that the bandits were firing on her friends. It was only a matter of moments before... _Wolfwood. Millie._ "Dammit, Vash! I'm never going to forgive you for this!"

She didn't have to tell him that she was going to do it. He was already tightening his grip around her waist. And though she couldn't see it, she just knew he was smiling. "Bastard!"

It wasn't much of a battle cry. _'Geronimo!'_, _'Bonsai!'_, or even, _'Look out below!'_ would have been much more appropriate. But, the unoriginal invective against the outlaw latched onto her back would have to do as Meryl down-shifted and twisted the throttle as hard as she could.

They hit the makeshift ramp at what should have been a terrific speed, but the transition from road to truck was surprisingly smooth. That is, it was, until the bike's tire caught in the gap between the 'ramp' and the truck's bed. The motorcycle fumbled, its spinning back wheel flinging the tail of the bike into a hard arc. Meryl desperately twisted her hips. She pulled her leg out from under the bike as it fell to its side. Vash wrapped his arms around her and tucked his legs, neatly encompassing almost her entire body, as they disconnected from the bike and it slammed into the back of the cab. Vash held her off the truck's bed, his right side raking over its surface, until they crashed into the remains of the motorcycle and stopped.

"Vash?! Vash, you okay?!" She pulled away from the protective embrace, attempting to assess the damage done to the body that had protected her own.

Vash grunted as he sat up, his right sleeve in tatters where it had dragged as they slid. "That's my line," he said, smiling through obvious pain as he removed his ruined jacket. His right leg and hip weren't in much better shape. Meryl made a hissing sound of sympathetic pain as the road-rash up and down his entire right side came into view. "Are you okay?" he asked her.

"You idiot! Why would you ask if _I'm_ okay?!" she yelled, even as she wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "That was such a stupid idea!"

"Does this mean you forgive me?" he smiled, touching her cheek where a few rogue tears had managed to dampen it.

"No!" she cried, but threw herself into his arms. He hugged her back, and she muttered against his chest, "I hate you."

Vash laughed, and pulled away as he carefully stood. "C'mon," he said, offering her his hand. "We still gotta save Wolfwood and Millie."

"Oh, dammit!" Meryl jumped to her feet. How could she have forgotten, even for a moment...? She watched as Vash climbed on top of the cab. She followed and he pulled her up. Looking down, she could see Millie and Wolfwood in front of them. They'd gained a little distance on the escort truck. Meryl was guessing that the occupants of the cab beneath her and Vash's feet were trying to figure out what the hell had happened in the back of their truck. They'd had to have felt it when the bike slammed into the cab. It probably had caused them to slow down long enough for Millie and Wolfwood to gain a bit of a lead.

The passenger of the escort truck was hanging out of his window, firing on the smaller truck with little success. Though the jeep had an open top, Meryl could only catch glimpses of the tops of her friends' heads as they ducked the haphazard gunfire. _What now?_

Meryl was crouched low to keep her balance atop the cab. Vash was squatting beside her, gazing steadily at the jeep in front of them. It took a moment for her to figure out what he was doing, until he managed to catch Wolfwood's eye in the rearview. The priest nodded almost imperceptibly and allowed the gap between the two vehicles to shorten. "Vash, what...?"

Suddenly, he gripped her hand. "Meryl, do you trust me?" he asked with a serious little crease in his forehead.

"Of course, Vash. Why...?"

"Okay!" he grinned. "Remember you said that, and don't hurt me later!"

"Wha...?" she began as her eyebrows drew violently together. Instantly, Vash gripped the back of her collar and wrapped the other arm around her waist. Before she could utter a word, he threw her. He launched her like she weighed less than a doll, and Meryl found herself shrieking and airborne, on a collision course with the jeep. She landed on the backseat and bounced onto the floor. Disentangling her limbs, she managed to sit up, just in time to watch Vash jump.

Vash somersaulted forward. Meryl caught a glimpse of the driver's surprised eyes as they met the sight of an upside-down outlaw, in flight, and aiming his gun. Three shots went into the truck's radiator before Vash twisted in the air, head over his heels once more. Despite the grace of his aerial maneuvers, Vash landed awkwardly on his ass in the jeep's backseat, his feet hanging over into the front.

Millie peeked over the front seat, eyes wide. "That was really neat, Mr. Vash!"

Wolfwood straightened in his seat, watching the image of the disabled, steaming escort vehicle grow smaller in the rearview mirror . He turned amused eyes on Vash, "Show off."

"Nice decoy," Vash grinned at the priest.

He smirked right back, "Nice support."

Vash squinted into a large, self-deprecating grin until he felt someone tapping on his leg and looked down. Meryl was glaring up at him from the floor. Vash instantly put up his hands, hoping to appease her before she followed through on the wrath promised in her eyes, "Meryl... remember what you said..."

Meryl dragged herself up onto the seat next to him. "I say I trust you and you throw me?!" Her words were punctuated by slaps and whacks that, being trapped in the backseat with her, Vash didn't have a prayer of avoiding. "Pea-brained, upside-down-haired, crazy...!"

"Meryl!" Vash cried over Meryl's insults and Wolfwood's laughter. "You said you weren't going to hurt me later!"

"I.." _whack! _ "...never..." _smack! _ "said that!" She raised her fist again, but paused as a thought occurred to her, "I'm not hurting you... I'm not even hitting you hard."

"I know," he said, lowering the arm he'd been holding up in a defensive position, "but I still want you to stop... Do you feel better now?"

Meryl considered his question. How sad was it that a half-hearted game of "slap-Vash" helped to ease some of her tension? She remembered how torn up his right side was and started to feel guilty. Guilt quickly mingled with a refreshed swell of anger. Why should she feel guilty? It was his stupid idea! Still, she swallowed it, willing herself to a gentler disposition.

"Sorry," she sighed heavily, then added, "but don't think for a second I'm not still mad at you!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And don't _ever_ do anything like that again!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And stop calling me 'ma'am'!"

"Yes, ma.. Meryl." She glared icily at him and he offered up that goofy smile. She scowled in response, but wearily gave up. With a sigh, she crossed her arms and fell back against the seat, closing her eyes as she leaned into him and he tentatively wrapped his left arm around her shoulders.

"Millie, Wolfwood, are you both okay?" she asked.

"Yup!" Millie chirped. Wolfwood didn't turn around, his eyes cool and expressionless in the mirror, but he gave her a 'thumbs up' in response. "How are you both?" Millie asked.

"I'm hungry, actually," Vash answered. "Got anything to eat?"

The next several moments were filled with the sounds of Vash and Wolfwood arguing over the fair division of a meal-replacement bar, and Millie's unsuccessful attempts to keep the peace. Eventually, Vash was leaning forward over the seats, and yelping as Wolfwood poked at his abraded arm in response. Meryl looked back over her shoulder, the _Endurance_ long gone from sight. Vash leaned back with slightly less than half of a meal bar in his hand. He offered it to her as she slipped back under his arm.

"No, thanks," she said as she rested her head on his shoulder. Dawn was breaking and hazy tendrils of red and orange sunlight were racing the mother-sun across the desert. "You know what, Vash?" she asked, as sleepy eyes began to flutter shut.

"What?"

"I _really_ hate sandsteamers."


	16. Strategy

**Title****: **_After __the __Fall_

**Author****: **Girl Interpreted

**Betas****: **Abaddon Nox (after all these years, she still puts up with me)

**Timeline****:** Post-anime (a few days after Vash returns to the girls with Knives in tow), with a crunchy manga topping

**Pairings****:** Vash/Meryl, Millie/Wolfwood, Knives/I don't know that he's cut out for romance, or, you know, interaction with other sentient beings

**Genre****:** Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action

**Rating****:** T- for violence, language, sexual content

**Archive****:** Please contact me for permission.

**Disclaimer****: **_Trigun_, its characters and universe, are the intellectual property of their respective owners. I am merely borrowing for entertainment purposes. I make no claims of ownership, nor do I profit from my storytelling.

**Summary****:** Last time: I know it's been a while, so here we go, from the top: Vash is gonna rescue Knives. Knives is gonna rescue Vash. (Difference of opinion on the definition of "rescue.") To this purpose, Vash brings Knives home to the girls. Also to this purpose, Knives kidnaps Meryl. Wolfwood is alive. Huzzah & Yay! Vash makes a valiant effort to recover Meryl from the clutches of his homicidal twin, but ends up with a gut fulla lead. Knives, trapped by unnamed emotions, feels compelled to save his brother and not kill Meryl. He takes his brother off into his desert fortress-of-solitude, 'cause Knives has stuff like that. After Vash is healed, Knives strikes a bargain: 5 years of my life for 5 years of yours. Vash has to convince Knives that humanity is the bestest before his turn is up, otherwise Knives is gonna have his BYOB xenocide. Vash leaves Knives behind in New Oregon (he'll be on his best behavior, right?) to find his favorite humans. One in particular. As one thing leads to another, Meryl and Vash find themselves in the lounge of a March-bound sandsteamer. Then they find themselves in each others' arms, on their way to more amorous activities, before they're interrupted by hijackers. Well, hell. Hijackers disarmed (and chasing Vash, whose plan somehow involved telling them who he is), Wolfwood and Millie take off in a jeep, followed by Vash and Meryl on a motorcycle. But, Vash can't drive a motorcycle! Not to worry: Meryl's more than equipped for the task. Where the hell did she learn to do that? After your run-of-the-mill jump from a motorcycle onto a moving truck, Vash threw Meryl into a moving jeep and concluded the scene with some impressive aerial acrobatics. That's right: he threw her. Don't think she'll be letting that one go anytime soon. So, now Wolfwood, Vash, Millie and Meryl are heading out into the desert, most likely, with the military on their heels.

**A****/****N****:** It has been several years since I've updated this fic. I feel like that requires some sort of explanation to those who've been faithful readers up to this point. (If you are a new reader, please disregard this note and continue on to the text.) — I could tell you that I had been mortally wounded and was spending this time healing in a plant bulb, but not only would that be a lie, it would probably piss you off, so I'm going with the truth: I ran out of ideas. I had a vision for the ultimate destination, but the path got obscured, and I didn't know what to do. I waited, hoping that it would come to me, as it always had, but the longer I waited, the farther it got away from me. So frustrating: knowing where I wanted to end up, but unable to see the path to get there. Well, eventually, life got in the way, blah blah blah, and I did what I never thought I would: I left a story on hiatus. It has bothered me ever since, and I only hope that I can make it up to you now. Unfortunately, this first attempt at making it up to you has resulted in approximately 9000 words of nothing-interesting-happens-in-this-chapter. I'll do better next time. Probably. (And yes, I still overuse ellipsis, but I have given up the Oxford comma. Mostly.) Onward!

* * *

**Chapter**** 16: ****Strategy**

* * *

The game that evening was chess. Doc was, at times, almost pleasant to converse with. He didn't ask stupid questions, and actually possessed knowledge of topics Knives cared to hear about. Currently, he was describing his progress developing "lost" technology, and Knives found the human's ignorance and fumbling efforts terrifically amusing.

"Of course, Vash has been a godsend when it comes to making sense of the technology we're left with, but he describes his own knowledge as being quite limited." The doctor made a fairly bold, but ultimately useless, move with his knight, and Knives wondered if he knew he was going to lose in the next five moves.

"Yes, well, Vash never did have much interest in science." He relieved Doc of his second bishop.

The doctor laughed. "Yes, he was quite delighted with my book collection when he first arrived. Bypassed the science texts and went straight for the poetry. I've never seen anyone so happy to see a particular volume."

"Whitman?" he asked. The doctor nodded, and Knives was smiling before he could catch himself. "He's so predictable. His taste never evolves."

Doc had found that bringing Vash into a conversation with Knives was a very effective way to subtly disarm him, but if he pushed the topic too far, it inevitably produced the opposite effect. Knives had taken note of this particular tactic a while ago; regardless, he kept falling into the trap. He scowled a bit, and took out his displeasure on the doctor's king-side rook. "Check."

"Oh, my! Looks like I'm in quite a predicament," the doctor laughed. "You strike me as more science-minded. I suppose, if you chose to, you could advance our understanding of Lost Technology by a hundred years in the span of an afternoon."

Knives smirked. "Yes. I suppose I could."

The doctor smiled agreeably. He knew Knives wasn't going to offer so much as a hint, and also knew better than to ask for one. "Ah, too bad for me!" the doctor sighed. "I'll just have to keep going about it the old-fashioned way."

Jessica entered the office, preceded by a perfunctory little knock on the door. Knives was hungry and had been beginning to wonder where the hell she was.

"Good evening, Mr. Knives, Doc." She set down her burden and began arranging plates and utensils.

Knives looked up from the chessboard to the plate she was fixing for him. "What's that?" he asked.

"Stuffed peppers. Family specialty." She smiled broadly, obviously quite pleased with herself and expecting a word of praise.

Knives looked back at the board. "I hate peppers," he said calmly.

"Oh." Jessica froze, uncertain for a moment. Knives looked back up at her, wondering why she was still standing there. She forced a smile back in place and began to gather the plates. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know that. It shouldn't take me too long to fix something else. You've got to be pretty hungry by now, after all."

Knives said nothing more to her, getting impatient with the game, waiting for the doctor to make a move so he could finish up and start a new match. This one had become boring when he'd realized he was going to win nine moves ago. The doctor surprised Knives when he stopped Jessica's retreat by laying a hand on her wrist. "This looks absolutely delicious, Jessica. Knives and I are going to have quite the feast."

"Oh, but," Jessica hemmed, eyes flashing automatically to Knives. But Knives was looking at the doctor, the boldness of the human having produced in him a temporary state of dumb consternation.

The doctor continued to smile pleasantly. "Run along now, dear. We have everything we'll need for the rest of the evening." He then stood and physically shooed the girl from the room. She cast one last anxious look at Knives before disappearing.

Recovering, Knives demanded, "Why the hell did you do that? She doesn't have anything better to do! You don't actually think I'm going to eat..."

"Excuse me," Doc began diplomatically, after regaining his seat, "but I won't tolerate you treating that child in such an abhorrent manner. I thought her selfless nature would perhaps be a positive influence on you, but I won't have your improvement come at her expense."

Knives bristled at the patronizing tone. _That __thing__? __Positive__ influence__, __indeed__. _But still, he didn't want this to get out of hand, so he thought it best to warn, "You're going to want to be very careful, _doctor_."

"Or you'll do what, Millions? Carve me up?" Doc responded quite calmly, letting a bit of silence draw out as Knives was unable to offer an answer. Knives was reacting exactly as the doctor had predicted he would, muscles coiling with rage that had no where to go but into the glare he fixed on the man across from him. Doc gave him a moment before he continued. "That girl endured quite a loss when you had the ship attacked."

A small measure of the anger in Knives' features was supplanted by grim amusement. "And, so? If you're trying to arouse my sympathies, I'm going to be insulted."

Doc frowned softly, "Of course not. I know very well that you don't care about something like that."

"Then why bother telling me?"

"Well, dear boy, because someday you might care, and then you'll be glad you know," the doctor said, offering him a pleasant, all-purpose smile. "But really, if you plan on staying here, you're going to have to stop being such an arrogant, egotistic leech of a house guest."

He must have heard that incorrectly. Doc couldn't possibly just have... Knives had to avert his gaze and grip the sides of the table to prevent himself doing something rash and violent. It occurred to him that maybe he was being baited, but he couldn't see the point. _How __dare __he__... __Like __a __child__, __an__ inferior__! __Bumbling__, __idiotic__, __pretentious__, __shriveled __impostor __of__ an __elder__! __Nothing __but__ a__ superstitious __shaman__ pretending__ to__ be __a __scientist__, __and __he __calls __me__, __ME__, __a __LEECH__..._ The anger was like static in his head, demanding its pound of flesh, but he didn't want to act on it, didn't want to lose control, didn't want... "Stop that," he said darkly, part warning, part plea.

"Are you beginning to see my point, Knives? You see how easily I provoked you? You are extremely logical, aside from your temper. So let me appeal to your rationality and ask that you see that rage for what it is: an enemy of your goals, of your logical mind. You cannot honestly believe that the majority of people will allow you to treat them as servants without making a fuss. If you continue to develop this method of interaction, you're going to find yourself in conflict, and we both know you're not equipped to resolve anything peacefully." Though he did not speak, Knives was able to respond to the appeal by subtly relaxing his muscles and resuming eye contact. Doc continued, "I'm merely suggesting that you try and be nice to her."

Knives raised an eyebrow at that. "Nice? To whom?"

"Yes! Nice! To Jessica. You know, attempt to be considerate of her feelings!"

Knives snorted a laugh. "Seriously? I'm not even nice to Vash."

The doctor ignored Knives' only partially accurate assertion. "Practice being nice to her, and perhaps, you'll eventually be able to treat other people with courtesy. And, in turn, they will be kind to you, and you'll be much less likely to find yourself in conflict. The secret, Millions, is that you don't actually have to like anyone to be nice to them. Just as an example, I don't particularly like you, and yet somehow, I manage. Don't tell me you can't do something that even an _inferior_ being like myself can accomplish with ease. It's very simple! A very basic and effective strategy."

Knives was unconvinced. "What do you know about strategy?" He gestured to the chessboard. "I'm about to beat your..."

Doc picked up his knight and replaced it on the board with a decisive _clack__! _"Checkmate." Knives' mouth fell open as he stared at his captured king. "You're so defensive that you cage yourself in, and you're hopeless once you think you've won," Doc said in way of an explanation. He began to gather the pieces and said, "Now. Eat your damn dinner."

Knives did _not _eat dinner, and had been so furious that he'd spent two hours afterwards pacing around the cold sleep chamber. Maybe there was some literal truth in that old expression of speech, "cool off", because eventually he was calm enough to think clearly. He had to reluctantly conclude Doc's argument had its merits. He had to at least learn the rules of social interaction among humans. He hadn't had a lot of people to practice with when he was a kid, and he'd been killing them, or using them to kill each other, ever since. So, he wasn't really sure how it was supposed to go if you needed to coexist. And that's exactly what he needed to do. It had been easier when he'd had Vash around as a buffer, but Vash was going to come back to him with a gaggle of humans all but guaranteed to engage him in all manner of horrifying interaction. And these humans weren't going to be like the Gung-ho Guns: obedient and respectful and killable. And, of course, it wasn't as if Vash would allow him to avoid them. The idiot's whole "reformation" agenda hinged on some twisted version of immersion therapy. Vash was going to have him waist deep in humanity for the duration of his term as king of the free-walkers. If he wanted any chance at making it through to his own reign, with the terms of their agreement (and his sanity) intact, Knives was going to have to get better at getting along.

And so, God help him, he was going to be... _nice__._

* * *

"Explain to me how a fully staffed sandsteamer allowed _Vash __the __Stampede_ to jump ship and escape in a goddamned _jeep_!" she heard Lieutenant Colonel Irwin shouting as she reentered the outer office.

"I don't know, sir?" ventured the corporal in charge of the wires when it became clear the CO actually expected a response.

"Well, let's bloody well find out, shall we? Have we managed to get the _Endurance__'__s_ captain on the line yet? Anyone from March or September? I want to know how many accomplices he had. I want anyone who talked to them, anyone who _saw_ them, detained and interviewed. Who do we have on that? And where in the _hell_ is my aide-de-camp?"

"Captain. Sir," she said as she crossed the room.

"Sorry?" As he turned his attention toward her, the corporal resettled his headphones and turned back to his board, not unlike a rabbit hoping a hawk might lose track of him if he buried himself deeply enough in the grass.

"You don't have an aide-de-camp, sir," she clarified. "One must be ranked at least Brigadier General to be assigned an aide-de-camp. Ergo, 'Does anyone know the whereabouts of the Captain?' would be correct, whereas, 'Where the hell is my aide-de-camp?' is an arrogant misnomer, Lieutenant Colonel, sir." Before he could respond, she handed him the coffee mug held in her left hand, and flipped open the manila file she carried in her right. "We've received a few more detailed descriptions, and I believe we can positively identify both Vash the Stampede and Meryl Stryfe. They boarded separately, but a couple of witnesses have them leaving the ship's lounge together, not long before the hijacking. The crew say he fled the control room with another man, identity unknown: tall, dark hair, and... hmm, strange weapon." She handed the Lt. Colonel a sketch of the 'weapon' which, to his confusion, just looked like a cross. "The casino staff identified a man of the same description disarming several hijackers in the company of a tall blonde woman."

The Lt. Colonel held the mug, but had yet to drink from it. "Millie Thompson?"

She nodded. "Likely, considering September is her hometown, and her brother was married there not long before the _Endurance _put out for March."

"So, Special Agent Stryfe was in September." He paused, staring for a moment at nothing in particular as he finally took a draught from the mug. "Private Thrace," he said, redirecting his gaze to a young man behind the desk to his left.

"Sir, yes, sir!" the private responded, with a bit more immediacy and crispness than was strictly necessary.

"Get the specs on that jeep. See if you can find out how much juice was in the fuel cells. And Private Davies?"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

Lt. Colonel Irwin exhaled loudly as the private sat bolt upright in her seat. Her right hand looked as if it had been halfway committed to a salute before she thought better of it. "Will everyone stop acting like they're terrified of me?"

"They would if you'd stop shouting at them, sir," the Captain commented. He glared at her, but she continued, "This situation is not their fault."

"Josie," he began.

"Captain," she corrected, the first hint of anger entering her voice.

"Fine!" he huffed with exasperation. Raising both arms he declared, "Captain Josephine Irwin, dearest and most honorable little sister," he turned to encompass the rest of the room, "assembled staff: I apologize for shouting. I am, as my sister implies, but does not say, an ass. I do appreciate your hard work and dedication." He concluded with a bow, his wrist turning over in a stylized flourish. He looked to Captain Irwin, who offered only a glare.

Satisfied with the few chuckles and notably more relaxed shoulders of his staff, the Lt. Colonel turned his attention back to the jumpy private. "Private Davies, as I was saying, if you would be so kind as to procure a map and a protractor, and once Private Thrace has provided you with the estimated distance they could have covered, draw us a circle encompassing every town, camp, and hovel they may have escaped to?"

"Of course, sir."

"And, Corporal Pierce?"

"Yes, sir."

"Keep on the media. It's bad enough the General authorized that bounty on Vash the Stampede. The last thing I want is the satellite broadcasting his escape. I don't want to get out there only to have to deal with a thousand civilian bounty hunters."

"Sir!"

The Lt. Colonel offered his overworked wires operator a brief smile before turning to address the room. "Everyone, you know your jobs. There aren't too many places they could have gone that far out in the desert, but do not take it for granted that they'll be easy to scoop up. I want to know their exact location, and I want them completely surrounded before we move in. The higher-ups are going to be watching how we handle this. So, let's catch this bastard before I get demoted and we lose our deposit on this lovely office."

A collective, affirmative _"__Sir__!"_ trailed on his heels as he walked to the far end of the room and through the door to the inner office. Captain Irwin followed.

"Well, _that_ was professional," she said, once the door was closed.

He shrugged as he began to look for something in the jumble of paperwork strewn across his desk. "They'll be more efficient now that they're a bit more relaxed."

She picked up the coffee mug he'd absentmindedly put down, frowning at the ring it left on the corner of this week's shift reports. "Sir, you wouldn't have to relax them if you hadn't terrified them in the first place."

"Ah, well," he said, pausing to scan a document and then setting it aside, "that was so they'll take it seriously and won't slack off."

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "The Great Manipulator," she accused, taking a gulp from the coffee mug and then frowning down at its contents. "I make terrible coffee."

"Yes. Yes, you do," he replied, ignoring the 'Manipulator' comment, and forming a little pile of papers from the greater mess of his workspace. "But, for some reason, I like it."

"Sir, you have to use my rank when we're in uniform," she said, a bit more gently. "How can you expect anyone to take me seriously otherwise?"

"I know, I know- I'm an idiot," he sighed. "It's just hard to get used to having my kid sister as my aide-de-camp." She took a breath, but before she could voice the expected protestation, he put up his hands and continued, "I know, I know- I don't have an aide-de-camp. Captain. My right hand, my XO, my second-in-command, whatever. Everyone knows you're a stellar officer. I suspect a controlling majority of the staff would place you in charge if put to a vote, and they also knows we're siblings, so I don't see the harm..."

"People will suspect nepotism, sir," she countered.

"Quite right, Captain. What, with our father being a general and all, I can certainly see why your brother slipping up and using your given name is of primary concern to you in regards to rumors of favoritism."

"Lieutenant Colonel, _we _may both know how hard we worked for our positions, but there are plenty of others who don't and suspect the worst, which is why it's so important that we behave professionally. I certainly didn't ask to be placed under your command, but as long as I am..."

"Of course not, Captain. Our father had you assigned to me."

"What?" She shook her head and blinked a few times in rapid succession. "I'm sorry, sir, but...?"

He didn't look up from the papers he was still shuffling. "And thank God he did. Though, granted, I'm sure his motivation was to get you out of the field, and maybe piss me off a bit. But, lacking as I am, I really did need an exceptionally capable officer as my aide-de-camp. I needed at least one subordinate who can stand up to me when I'm being an ass, which is, as you know, often. You were the only one qualified. And it's not nepotism," he looked up at her for a moment before turning back to his growing stack of documents. "I couldn't do this without you. My whole office might fall apart if you took a sick day."

She considered him mutely for a long moment before stepping forward, snatching up a handful of paperwork from the rest of the mess. "You don't have an..."

"Yes, I know," he interrupted. "I don't _technically_ have an aide-de-camp. I just really like the way it sounds. Don't you?"

This time she did not resist the urge to roll her eyes. She answered him with another question. "What are we looking for, sir?"

"Millie Thompson's paper trail. Stryfe was supposed to have ditched her partner and gone rogue. God, I'm still kicking myself for losing track of her after she left southern Cornelia!"

"I told you you were underestimating her, sir," Captain Irwin noted as she perused one of Special Agent Thompson's filed expense reports.

"That you did, Captain," he agreed. "I really thought I had her number, too. But, you should have seen her! She was this tiny little girl!" The Captain's withering glare cut short his complaint. He cleared his throat, and said, "Quite right, Captain. After all, _you__'__re_ a tiny little girl and... Ow! That's striking a superior officer!"

"No, that's smacking my dumbass brother upside the head," she said coolly.

He smoothed out the hair at his crown, muttering, "And after all that talk about being professional in uniform."

"Sir, we were talking about something important. I suspect you might have been getting close to a point."

"Ah, yes! So, Thompson was supposed to be tracking Stryfe down. At least, that's what she's been reporting back to Bernardelli, but we didn't follow up, because she didn't seem like she had any promising leads. Thompson was in September for her brother's wedding, right?"

"Yes, sir," the Captain said, as she studied a postmark, "but how is it that Stryfe was in September, as well, unless they were in contact?"

"'In cahoots' is more likely." He ran a hand through his hair. "To be fair, from all reports, Thompson is a total ditz. Late over twenty times in a row, cited several times by superiors for failure as a result of ineptitude. Her direct superior told me she was— and I'm quoting here, Captain— 'a total screw-up.' The only account I ever heard in her favor was that she's the only person in the company who could tolerate being subordinate to 'Derringer' Stryfe." The Captain looked up from the document in her hands with a particularly knowing crease between her eyes. He stopped equivocating. "Oh, I screwed up on this one, Captain. I know it, okay? Damn. We got anyone we like in September?"

"There's a first lieutenant I trust..."

The door swung open, loudly colliding with the interior wall and effectively interrupting the Captain. Flinching at the sound, but continuing forward with purpose, Corporal Pierce entered the office. Without looking up, the Lt. Colonel said, "Hello, Corporeal, I see you've forgotten how to knock."

"Sir, sorry, sir," he apologized hastily, extending a document towards the Lt. Colonel, "but I knew you'd want to see this right away."

Lt. Colonel Irwin's gaze narrowed in irritated displeasure as his eyes scanned the page. "Brilliant. Just perfect."

"Sir?" the Captain ventured, wondering what could have happened now that would have him so vexed.

He handed her the copy of the wanted poster and the attached documents. "Captain, find out who the hell authorized a dead-or-alive bounty on Meryl Stryfe."

* * *

Knives was good at everything. To him, this was not a belief so much as an objective fact. Still, he attached a not inconsiderable degree of pride to his numerous talents, and the revelation that there were things that he was _bad_ at, was a blow to his ego he wasn't keen to share. It especially bothered him (for reasons he refused to consider) that the skills he most lacked, Vash possessed in spades.

He'd made a list in his mind of the skills that most crucially required improvement if he'd any hope of making it through his five year truce with Vash. One: Managing one's temper. Two: Developing immunity to proximity to humans. The first task was annoying and frustrating, to the infuriating point of counterproductivity. The second task was repulsive to even consider. No, worse than that (though it was most certainly repugnant), it was akin to a betrayal of the tenets by which he'd lived the whole of his life. Something along the lines of: _Thou __shalt __not __suffer __a __human __to __live__._ So, the idea of even _tolerating _them was perfectly loathsome. He had to think of it as a challenge. He was doing this to prove that he could, that no ability was outside the scope of his aptitude. If he treated it as an exercise, he didn't have to hate himself for it.

Thus: Test Subject Zero, _née_ 'Jessica'.

At first, it was clear that she'd expected Knives to be just like Vash. He'd quickly disabused her of this notion. Most of the initially curious residents of the ship had learned to avoid Vash's brother within the first week or two of his stay. Jessica, however, remained fascinated (she was obsessed with Vash, but maybe this preoccupation extended to all autonomous plants), and took to dropping off his meals, asking him questions, generally trying to engage him.

Knives had done all he could (_outside __of __violence__, __because __it__'__s __against __the __goddamned __rules_) to dissuade her feckless attempts to... _to__ what__? __What __the __hell __does__ this __creature __want __from__ me__? __A __pat __on __the __head__? __A __flea __bath__? _After his "conversation" with Doc, however, he'd concluded, annoying as she was, she might actually be useful. He could practice tolerating her, and not getting angry enough to kill her. Granted, it was possible that Vash wouldn't have approved, but, in all fairness, she was practically volunteering for the job.

He started off slow. The first experiment was performed one evening as she dropped off his dinner. He said, "Thank you," and forced himself to smile. (At least, he was pretty sure he managed to smile. Despite the tremble from his clenched teeth, it felt like the corners of his mouth moved up a bit.) The human's reaction was more than he'd been prepared for. He'd known that if you gave a pet a treat, it might become so excited that it would bounce around at your feet. However, he dearly hoped she wasn't going to try to lick his face. He slammed the door on her bubbly, bowing form, cutting off a breathless litany of supplications – _'__Oh__, __thank __you__, __Mr__. __Knives__! __It__'__s__ no __trouble__, __not __at __all__. __It__'__s __my __pleasure__. __If __you __ever __want __anything __or __need __anything __or __anything __at __all__, __really__, __please__...'_

As the length of Vash's absence grew in proportion to Knives' restlessness, and his sisters took to speaking in riddles and responding to each of his inquiries with _'__Ask __your __brother__'_, he found that practicing his "people skills" was an almost welcome distraction. And Jessica eventually proved to be an ideal test subject. She was suitably annoying, which stretched the limits of his endurance to an extent that the surprisingly tolerable presence of the Doc was unable to achieve. _Unless__, __of __course__, __the __bastard __is __TRYING __to __piss __me __off__. _Conversely, she was submissive and docile to a degree sufficient to prevent pushing him over the edge. He told her to shut up, and she did. He ordered her to leave his sight, and she did. _Perfect__._

Knives had been of the opinion that his human tolerance training was progressing quite adequately, but after a while he wasn't so sure. Oddly enough, it was the very qualities he had believed would make her presence endurable, which he was beginning to find _intolerable_. Her bubbly _'__tee __hee__' _laugh, her inability to play any card game aside from Old Maid, her penchant for asking the same questions (mostly about Vash) over and over and over again, the fact that she started every sentence with the word "Oh" – he had believed these attributes to be the real challenge, beyond annoying. But, actually, nothing about any of that was _beyond _annoying. They were pristine examples of Annoying personified, but in the end, just irksome, certainly not important enough to inspire murderous intent.

Strange, he had thought her eagerness to please, along with her biddable personality, would make her presence easier to suffer, and yet, the more time in which he was subjected to her company, the more it was those very qualities he found he couldn't stand. He was about ready to give up on the whole thing, to console himself with the fact that he was at least quite skilled at tolerating the company of one human (Doc). Perhaps, he should just be satisfied with that, and work on more troublesome humans at a yet to be determined future date. Really, this whole magnificent failure of an experiment was that tiny doctor's fault to begin with.

_Screw__ being __nice__._

In the periphery of his vision he could see Jessica look up at him, expectantly, at least once within every ninety second interval. He was holding a book, occasionally turning pages, but it wasn't interesting and he wasn't really bothering to read.

Doc had suggested that Knives attempt to be considerate of her feelings, and the execution of this bit of advice had required him to, firstly, consider that she had feelings, and, secondly, to induce what they might be. It became immediately clear that the manner in which he'd previously dealt with her was abysmal within the guidelines of human interaction. He tried to be _nicer_, but of course he wasn't very good at it. He'd shout at her, or say something cruel. That was all fine and good. The issue was _her _behavior. She never got angry. Never retaliated. Just simpered and fawned and... _Ugh__! __It__'__s __disgusting__! _Doc had spoken of her "selfless" nature, and it was quite literally true: she didn't seem to possess a 'self,' at least not one that required any respect.

He reflected that Vash's pet human wouldn't have put up with it. She would have shouted right back at him. She would have invented quite a few creative invectives in response to his verbal abuse. And if she'd wanted to say something to him, she'd probably just have _said __it_, instead of glancing up hopefully every few seconds. Comparative to Vash's, his own trained human was distinctly lacking in moxie.

He snapped the book shut and turned to the human sitting across his breakfast table from him. "What?" he demanded.

She set her knitting down in her lap, giving him her full gaze and looking perfectly delighted that he was paying attention to her. It was actually quite nauseating. "Oh, it's nothing really. Can I get you more tea? Or maybe something to eat? Or...?"

"No. Thank you," he interrupted. He was actually a little proud of the 'thank you.' Despite how difficult she was making it, and his own internal dialogue on the futility of the exercise, he was still managing to be fairly nice. _Okay__. __So__ what __else__? _"What are you working on?" There. He'd asked her something about herself. Humans seemed to find this to be a particularly nice gesture.

"Oh, this?" She glanced down at the pile of scarlet-red yarn in her lap. "I'm making you a sweater. Red. Your favorite color."

"Wow. That's..." _utterly__ horrifying_"...I'm fairly certain that's Vash's favorite color. I'm sure he'd like it."

"Oh." He wondered, for a moment, if she was capable of speech if she didn't begin with _'__Oh_'. "No. Vash, well. See, I don't think he'll want it."

_Well__, __I __certainly __don__'__t__. _"I'm sure he will. I don't need a sweater, and I make it a point never to wear anything red."

"Oh." _For __the __love __of__... _"But you're brothers."

"Very astute."

"So, shouldn't you like the same things? I mean, Vash always liked me, and I thought we'd get married someday, but this last time he came home with you, and I told him how I felt and he told me that since he's known me since I was a baby I'm like a little sister to him, and so I thought you might..." she trailed off, looking down at her hands in her lap, blushing crimson.

He had been gaping at her silently since she began her breathless tirade, and when she concluded, he had to rewind it a few times in his head before he could begin to understand that he was... he was... _I__'__m __a __substitute __for __Vash__?_

Knives took a deep growl of a breath and started checking off on his fingers: "Tea. Peppers. Red sweaters. Red _anything_. Rye blend, flowers, pets, transcendental poetry, you." She blinked at him in obvious confusion, her mouth eventually beginning to form the shape indicating she was going to say 'Oh' again. He continued speaking before she could abuse his ears with the sound. "That is a list of just some of the things Vash loves and I hate."

As if in response to his statement, the flash of a memory swept over him: He was looking up at Rem as she handed him a candy-floss apple. That stupid smile on her face. As if it were a monumental reward, a once in a lifetime treat. He'd given it to Vash, because he knew it was one of his brother's favorites. Knives had never, ever liked caramel apples. Rem should have known that.

Knives shook the remembrance and took a moment to account for Jessica. Her lip was quivering and her eyes were brimming with tears. "You... you hate me?"

"Good for you," he responded with false brightness, "your listening comprehension has really improved." He was being cruel on purpose, anything but nice, and he couldn't care less how she felt. Really. "Now get out, would you? I'm..." Something caught his ear and silenced him.

Soon after Vash's departure, Knives had installed some dozen-odd satellite receivers in his living quarters. Some broadcast commercial stations, some trade, and some military. They played at all times, at the same constant volume, low enough that with the dissonant overlap of different music and talk, a human (like Jessica) would hear nothing but quietly buzzing chaos. Knives, of course, heard everything that happened on every station, but he didn't have to give any of it particular, conscious attention. That is, until they began to broadcast something of note. Something he had been waiting for. Something to do with Vash.

Three of the military stations were discussing the escape of Vash the Stampede from a March-bound sandsteamer. Knives absorbed the details from the various wavelengths simultaneously, along with the fact that the Humanoid Typhoon's current whereabouts were unknown. Well, at least his brother hadn't been captured. But, to Knives' profound vexation, it got worse. The civilian stations were announcing an eighty million double-dollar bounty on Meryl Stryfe, former insurance agent, currently wanted dead or alive for "crimes against the Federation."

Knives was seething and swearing, even as he tore apart the bookshelf looking for the atlas, even as he was already planning his response. "And how the hell did this happen? I was expecting to hear news of alleged Stampede sightings, bounty hunters catching some half-wit impostor! But this! _Moron__!_ I told him to stay out of trouble! Of course not! All of Vash's debacles require a grand stage! And what's with the pet human? How did she end up complicating this mess? I mean, more than she already has-"

Knives paused, realizing that he could not pack a bag, read a map, curse Vash, and figure out a way to fix this. At least, not simultaneously. He pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger and took a slow breath. He noticed his hands were shaking a little, the palms damp, and rubbed them dry against his pants. When he looked up, he found Jessica standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide with her knitting clutched against her chest. "What are you... Has something happened to Vash?" she asked.

Of course. Not being able to hear the satellite reports, she had no idea why he'd suddenly jumped out of his seat, and started tearing around his single occupancy like a tornado on a mission, shouting and cursing the whole time. She only knew that something was terribly wrong. She was frightened, vulnerable. She was, he realized, looking to him for reassurance.

Stupid human. _Did __she __miss __the __part __where __I__'__m __not __my __bleeding__-__heart __nursemaid __of __a __brother__? __I__ REALLY __don__'__t __have __time __for __this __shit__._ "Go get Doc!" he ordered, and when she didn't move immediately, he shouted, "NOW!" He threw his arm out, pointing toward the door. She cringed backward, as if anticipating a blow, but nodded her compliance before darting from the room.

_To __fucking__ hell __with __being __nice__! __When __I __get __Vash __back__, __he __can __be __nice __enough __for the __both __of __us__. _

Knives had the atlas open to the page he wanted, studying the location on the map that corresponded with the military coordinates of the site of Vash's hasty disembarkation. The sandsteamer had been about to enter a fairly narrow pass called '_Montfernand__ Combe__'_.

The atlas was Knives' own creation, a combination of human cartography, and his own efforts to record the location of every last plant, as well as keeping track of the human populations that were parasitically pushing his race (_and __therefore__, __their __own__, __the __fucking__ gormless __maggots_) toward extinction. He was, therefore, quite certain of its accuracy.

Montfernand Combe ran north to south, and the sandsteamer had been approaching from the south, meaning Vash would have found himself in the open desert remains of an ancient floodplain. There wasn't a plant for hundreds of iles in any direction but north. The combe itself contained no plants, but there were a few scattered at higher ground, on both the east and west rims. Knives remembered this place now. The plants were fairly isolated out there, several had been weakened in the Fall. The humans had been overambitious, tried to establish settlements that were far too large, and one by one, seven plants had been submitted to the Last Run, slaves dead beneath the whip.

Both rims were scattered with the ruins of dead cities, half buried beneath the sand. There were only two plants still living and working, one on each side of the combe. Vash could use the ruins for cover, but he'd most likely have to visit one of the two extant settlements for supplies before he'd be able to move on. No. He absolutely would. Vash was traveling with humans, and he'd require an absurd amount of constant food and water to keep that delicate and needy breed alive. So, which side would he choose, east or west?

New Oregon was north, but the combe ended before one would have to cross, so Knives couldn't use his knowledge of Vash's ultimate destination as an indicator. The west rim was the obvious choice if the only factor considered was access to transportation and more habitable settlements. But, despite his own repeated assertions to the contrary, Knives knew Vash wasn't an idiot. He'd know the Cavalry would be eager to use this slip up to capture him. They'd, of course, station men in both towns, but the number of troops they could quickly deploy to such an out of the way location would be limited, so they'd focus their efforts on whichever of the two they thought more likely. That would be the one on the west rim: Kanan Town. If Vash anticipated this, he'd be heading for the east rim, for the town of Morrel. Unless, of course, Vash decided the benefits of the west rim outweighed the risk of running into the Cavalry's main force. And wouldn't it be just like him to think he could take them on and escape before they caught him? Or maybe, Vash would think that the military would know that _he_ would know that the west was the obvious choice and that _he_ would likely go east to avoid _them_, so _they_ would go east to outwit _him_, so in order to double-outwit them _he _would go...

"This is just stupid!" Knives threw himself into a chair and placed his elbows on the atlas, pressing his eyes against the heels of his hands. Try as he might, Knives had never been able to find a method behind Vash's madness. And within moments of trying to imitate Vash's emotional and reckless method of decision making, Knives found himself chasing thoughts that didn't make any goddamned sense. _And __I __forgot __about __the __humans__. __No __doubt __they__'__ll __be __acting __as __advisory __cabinet __and__ he__'__ll __be __listening__. _

Knives briefly considered how much more difficult his campaign to systematically orchestrate Vash's misery would have been had his brother not been such a skilled architect of his own destruction. Knives certainly couldn't be blamed for any tragedy that befell Vash this time. No, this was all his own fault, his own doing, his own... _Where__ the __hell __are __you__! __I __can__'__t __help __you __if __I __can__'__t __find __you__. _But maybe he could find him. Knives lifted his face from the heels of his hands and blinked away the spots. It was a long way off, much farther than he'd ever tried to make contact before, but this was Vash. Vash, whose mind had been linked with his own before they'd even been born. It was possible. It was more than possible if Vash was looking for him too.

He took a deep breath, sat up straight, let his arms hang limp, his hands heavy in his lap, closed his eyes, and listened. He wasn't listening with his ears, but that was the closest of the five senses to which he could compare. And as he listened, he was calling, reaching out, knowing that if Vash was doing the same, they would instinctively find each other. He reached farther, stretching, pushing beyond what was comfortable into what was beginning to threaten pain. That sensation of stretching bit by bit morphed into tearing. Dizzy, disoriented, vertigo— but he could go a little farther, just a little bit more. And suddenly in his mind was an image, like elastic being pulled tightly over a blade, stretching white just before it... _SNAP__! _

Knives didn't know if the sound was only in his head. It was so loud, such a sickening pop, that he was convinced for a moment that something in his body had really broken. His mind recoiled on itself, with a sensation of distance and speed that actually made his stomach drop. It felt like his brain violently collided with the back of his skull. He tried to look around him, to open his eyes and get his bearings, but the light was hot pain. _Pain__ pain __pain __pain __the __world __is __pain __is__..._ The pain in his head was so excruciating, he was actually going to be... _immediately __and__ violently __sick__._

Knives groped for the tabletop, struggling to stand, to get his feet under him, overturning the chair. He managed to turn himself around, and gripped the counter on either side of the kitchen sink. His stomach contracted with enough force to have doubled him over without the support of the counter, and the accompanying stab that shot through his skull brought tears to his eyes.

Though he was almost surprised he hadn't been turned inside-out, the worst of the pain seemed to have left his body along with his breakfast. It took him a few moments afterwards to reestablish the even pace of his breathing, to remember a world that didn't exist in a pinpoint of physical agony. With hands that trembled slightly, he turned the faucet on and rinsed his mouth a few times, splashed some of the cold water on his face.

_Well__, __that __was __dumb__. _Why had he pushed it that far?

He righted the chair and sat back down at the table, intending to try the atlas again, but he found himself laying his head down on its pages instead. _He__'__s __not __looking__ for __me__. __He__'__s __in __trouble__, __and __he__'__s __not __looking__ for __me__. _Why was that so upsetting? He noticed he was chewing on his lower lip and stopped himself, sitting up with a sigh. He stared at the map, chin resting on his steepled hands. _East __or __west__? __Kanan__ or __Morrel__? __Damn __it__, __Knives__, __think__! __You__'__re __a __fucking __genius__, __moron__! __Think__! _

He hadn't bothered to shut the door after Jessica left, and Doc now appeared in its frame. "What's going on? Something about Vash? I was making some adjustments to one of the plants, and Jessica was hysterical by the time she found me, so..."

Knives didn't answer, because he'd stopped listening. _Adjustments __to __the __plants__? __Oh__. __Oh__! _Flush with epiphany, he knocked the chair over again in his hurry to stand. He pushed past the doctor, commanding, "Stay right here until I get back."

They knew. He didn't know how, but they did. They knew about plants in settlements iles and iles away from them. Somehow, they weren't bound by distance like he was. They knew. They had to know. And this time, he wasn't leaving until he got a straight answer.

The cocky self-assurance Knives had nurtured on his way to the plant faltered when he came to a halt before the bulb to find his sister already by the surface of the glass, waiting for him. To his embarrassment, something uncertain and pleading sneaked into his voice, and when he spoke it was with all the forceful resolve of a child asking for an advance on his allowance, but not really expecting a positive response. "You can help me find Vash, right?"

To his relief, she smiled.


End file.
